


'Keep You Safe'

by pushupindrag



Series: Dragon!Jaskier AU [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Dragon Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Graphic Description, Healing, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Past Abuse, Post-Season/Series 01, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Rimming, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushupindrag/pseuds/pushupindrag
Summary: Jaskier is invited back to Oxenfurt for their third century anniversary. It's set up to be a wonderful time, until his family find him again.Set After'My Own'.They had been invited back to Oxenfurt. The academy was holding a ball in honour of it reaching its third century. And given that Jaskier was one of its most prominent alumni, how could the small trio refuse the invitation?“We could just flee.” Geralt looks at the thick paper that Jaskier had handed to him. Picking at the corners.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Dragon!Jaskier AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683490
Comments: 44
Kudos: 458





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This...... really was not how this was meant to go but apparently it's where it went so!! Have some angst I guess? (also i'm maybe already writing a follow up to this so!! there's gonna be more I just can't help myself!)
> 
> Based on the netflix show!
> 
> You don't necessarily have to read the other works for this to fully make sense but I highly recommend it!
> 
> Go to the end notes for triggers warnings! They contain light spoilers! Please heed the warnings though this is heavier than the previous works and I don't want to trigger anyone! Also I know nothing of distance or maps so i'm sorry for how wrong distances and things are!
> 
> Un-beta'd so please let me know if you find any mistakes!
> 
> Come chat to me about these idiots on my tumblr [here!](https://valleyofwitcher.tumblr.com/ask) if you want!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> split into two chapters to make reading easier

They had been invited back to Oxenfurt. The academy was holding a ball in honour of it reaching its third century. And given that Jaskier was one of its most prominent alumni, how could the small trio refuse the invitation?

“We could just flee.” Geralt looks at the thick paper that Jaskier had handed to him. Picking at the corners.

The script was swirling, asking in too fancy words if Jaskier would join them to perform for the festivities. It had found them that morning, in a tavern in some backwater town that Geralt had found a few jobs in. Not easy ones, but ones where he had come out not exactly worse for wear. So, they had let themselves stay for a short few days.

“And make them suspicious? No.” Jaskier shakes his head. “Look, Ciri is looking forward to it-”

“Ciri is currently still wanted by Nilfgaard.” Geralt’s voice is low with that. Much like Jaskier’s as they spoke. Hushed even in the harsh light of day that was filtering through the window of their room.

“And Oxenfurt is safe.” Jaskier was sitting in his nest in the corner. Geralt was stood by the door, leaning against the dresser as he read over the letter again.

“Jaskier.” He looks up, and Jaskier just stares back. Open and honest.

“It kept me safe. For years it kept me safe. I suspect one or two of the professors knew what I was and they still kept me safe. They’ll keep Ciri safe.” He folds his hands in his lap. “Please.”

He watches as Geralt tilts his head, reading the letter again. His brows furrowed, and Jaskier just waits as he thinks it over. “You can even go dressed in your usual garb. If you want.”

It’s that what does it. Jaskier grins when Geralt puts the letter down, fingers going to pinch at the bridge of his nose as he nods. “Fine.”

“Thank you my love.” He stands, going over to Geralt to wrap his arms around the witcher's waist, resting his chin on his chest to look up at him.

“Hm.” Geralt’s hands go to his hips. “Ciri will need to be disguised.”

“She’s been wanting to cut and dye her hair forever anyway.” 

“Urg.” The cost for good dye was pretty steep, hence why they hadn’t done it sooner.

“I’ll play an extra few sets we’ll be fine.” He kisses Geralt’s chest, resting his head there to hear Geralt’s heart beat. “You can even tell her.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier can hear the smile in it, and stays there in Geralt’s arms for a few moments longer before breaking away.

“Go. She should still be with Roach.”

“I know I can hear her.” Geralt looks down expectantly at Jaskier who still hadn’t let go and smiles, the private one he reserved only for him and Jaskier basks in it. When Geralt kisses his forehead he finally lets go with a last squeeze.

“Go and tell her. I’ll be downstairs harassing the patrons.”

“As always.” Jaskier swats him on the ass for that, giggling as he dances out of Geralt’s reach to go and get his lute, following the witcher downstairs after he locks their room door.

He watches Geralt leave the tavern as he goes towards the bar, letting himself appreciate the fact that when not on a job, Geralt wore stupidly tight pants before his attention is caught by the barmaid.

“Hmm, fine piece that is.” She sighs, almost dreamily. Gaze returning from the same place Jaskier’s had been and he bristles against his will. Jealousy came with the possessive nature. Strong bouts of it that pierced his chest, made his gut ache. How dare she talk about his bonded like that?

But he swallows that down with a sharp pain to his throat. Geralt didn’t belong to him. Geralt was his own person. Just because they were bonded didn’t mean Jaskier could control him. Could control any lustful thoughts others had about his witcher. His Geralt. 

Instead he focuses on the twisted pride that was lurking beneath the pain. Because while Geralt didn’t belong to him, the witcher still chose Jaskier to sleep with, to nest with and kiss and claim. Jaskier got that. Nobody else.

“He is, isn’t he?” He says instead. Hands clenched into fists by his side although he tries to relax them.

“Hm. You travel with him. And his darling daughter. Any chance?” She’s pretty, he can give her that, with curling auburn hair and a sweet complexion. And anyone who described ‘Ciri’, or ‘Fiona’ to people that they didn’t know, as darling would always have something going for them. But well, Geralt was his.

His pride is swiftly pushed aside though when he remembers why he’s at the bar in the first place. Something he had been able to perfect over the years, and he’s glad he’s able to do it now. Keeping them safe came before being a dragon. And with the reminder of Ciri and her needing some dye to keep her safe, his dragon instincts actually help as his protection outweighs his jealousy. 

He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m the wrong person to ask, i’m afraid. Although I think you might be the right to ask if I can perform for another few days here in your lovely establishment.”

“Who better than to ask, than a witcher’s companion?” She really wasn’t getting it. But a lot of small towns were like this, unable to see them as anything more than just friends. At least nobody had been openly hostile though. “But to answer your question, of course. You’ve been great for bringing in business. Although.” She pauses. “You have to put in a good word for me.”

“Done.” He says it through clenched teeth, but thankfully she doesn’t notice.

“Three more nights then bard.” She nods and holds a hand out that he shakes, fingers itching to clench hers tightly and cruelly. But no, he wouldn’t do that. So instead, once she’s let go, he shakes the grip out when it’s out of her view.

“Why thank you. Then I promise we’re out of your hair.”

“Maybe somewhere else if i’m lucky.” She winks, laughing. And oh Jaskier knows they’d be good friends if she wasn’t talking about Geralt.

“Yes indeed well, i’ll just. Go and practise.” He practically flees back to their room for fear of saying or doing anything else that would betray his heritage or would make an ass out of himself.

Geralt and Ciri find him curled up in his nest, angrily muttering to himself as he tossed and turned, frown almost hurting his face with how deep it was.

“Stupid barmaids.” He grouses. “Thinking they have a right to what's mine. My bonded. Fuck her. Stupid witch. Her pretty hair and face doesn’t make up for the fact that she’s stupid!”

He looks over his shoulder when the door opens, Geralt and Ciri tumbling in as Ciri dragged Geralt into the room, babbling about something. Although they stop when they see him.

“Jask?” Jaskier just frowns at Geralt’s gentle tone. Huffing.

“Go away i’m in a mood.” He knew he was being childish. But at least if the pair went back downstairs they wouldn’t hear him being childish.

“I’m gone for five minutes.” Geralt mutters, and Jaskier turns back over. Hearing the door shut, and then a lot quieter, the sound of Geralt sniffing. Scenting him. “Oh.”

“Shut up.”

“What?” Ciri comes over, sitting down heavily in the nest and Jaskier turns to wrap himself around her awkwardly. His bonded. His. Not some barmaids.

“Why on earth are you jealous?”

“Shut up!” Jaskier hisses, glaring up at Geralt before curling even closer around Ciri. “I’m trying not to be okay, leave me alone.” Never mind just childish. He was acting really stupidly childish.

Ciri giggles, petting at his hair. “What happened?”

“The barmaid.” He grimaces. “Asked me, to put in a good for her.” He directs this at Geralt, scowling even as he tries not to.

He’s unsurprised when Geralt laughs, the rare loud one that came from his chest.

“Shut up!” He yells, smiling a little despite himself. Because Geralt laughing like this was always a lovely sound.

“Jask.” Geralt would be doubled over if he were human. “I can’t believe you’re jealous.”

“Okay seriously, how many times can I tell you to shut up?” He raises an eyebrow, annoyance almost gone as he watches Geralt laugh, Ciri now laughing too as she looked down at him. She could probably see up his nose.

He goes to say something else, but a slight whiff causes him to stop. His senses weren’t as good as Geralt’s. But since it had only been about half a year since he had shifted his senses were definitely still heightened. And the scent is one he’s very familiar with. Geralt smells like happiness, the sweet after thunderstorm scent But now there’s a sharper twist to it, like mint. And oh, Geralt was aroused.

Obviously caused by Jaskier’s jealousy. Interesting. He files that way for later.

“Seriously.” He whines, getting Ciri to laugh even harder. “Can you both stop laughing at my misfortune please.”

“Never.” Ciri pets absently at his head. “Because somebody's jealous.” She sings the last word, drawing it out and that’s it.

Jaskier reaches up, tickling her until she’s crying with her laughter, hitting at him uselessly until he stops, giggling and crawling away to wrap herself into one of the blankets to get away.

While she’s distracted, he shoots Geralt a look. One he hopes Geralt understands as ‘I smell that on you, and we’ll talk later.’

Geralt meets his eyes and grunts with a small nod. It was nice knowing that they got each other without words. Obviously it had mostly come from their decades travelling together, being around a person that long meant you learnt pretty much everything about them. But their getting together had helped, and so had them being bonded. 

Geralt had said once, into the quiet of the night when they had been curled up under the stars, that Jaskier being able to scent him, even if his senses weren’t as heightened as his own, helped a great deal too. Geralt had never been good with words, more focused on his actions. So being able to smell the emotions that didn’t show on his face helped them both a lot. Especially since Geralt could be frowning and still be bursting with joy.

“The pair of you are awful.” He complains, flopping back down and burrowing into the blankets. “See if we get your hair dye now Ciri. And see if I ever kiss you again Geralt.” He practically howls, getting the chuckles he wants.

“Hair dye?” Ciri perks up, and Jaskier looks to Geralt from under his pile of blankets.

“You didn’t tell her?”

“Hmm.” Geralt just shrugs.

“Well Ciri. We’re letting you cut and dye your hair for the ball.”

“OH!” She squashes him with a hug before bouncing up, throwing herself at Geralt to give him the same bone crushing squeeze. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you!”

Jaskier watches as Geralt pets her hair, hugging back gently. “We’ll go and get you some later.”

“Or now! Please?”

“I think it’s best if you’re not seen buying it.” Jaskier says gently. “But I can go and get it, and then when we’re next camping I can cut it and dye it.”

She deflates a little, but nods all the same. “I guess that makes sense. Okay. Oh, can you pick me up some brown hair dye? Not black, I don’t have the complexion for it. But not too light either, I don’t want to go mousy brown.”

Jaskier keeps to himself the fact that then she’d probably look more like him, although her features would still be as prominent as Geralt’s. It must have something to do with destiny, their features being eerily similar. But with hair colour the same as his, she’d look like a mixture of them. Their daughter.

And oh does that make his gut twist. Because she wasn’t theirs and never would be. But she acted like she was. And he clings to that thought. The fact that she treated them like parents.

“You’ll look great sweet pea.” He answers when she stops babbling, throwing her hands around much like he does as she articulates. “I’ll pick the dye up before we head off okay?”

“Thank you!” She beams, and he smiles right back.

-

He’s unsurprised to see the barmaid serving Geralt and Ciri that night. Because they had apparently wanted to see him perform. Even though they did that practically every night. But Geralt hadn’t found another job, so he guessed it was either join Jaskier downstairs or stay upstairs on his own given that Ciri was always by Jaskier’s side in the evenings.

Ignoring the spike of jealousy in his gut as she hangs around their table in the back, he turns back to the audience, songs a little sweeter given how early it was in the evening. His raunchier ones were left when the younger patrons had left or been taken home. But sweet doesn’t mean soft and the patrons are clapping along, singing loudly and sloshing their drinks everywhere.

Trying his best doesn’t seem to be working as his eyes continually find the back table, although he’s glad he’s able to perform so well given he doesn’t frown in their direction. She doesn’t seem to be doing much thankfully, just chatting. But she seems to have forgotten to do her work, so caught up in trying to get conversation from the pair. Ciri is chatting along, because somebody had to if Jaskier wasn’t there to keep the person occupied. But he’s glad to see that Geralt has defaulted back to his grunts and hums, he can practically hear them even from tables away.

It warms him, knowing that Geralt isn’t playing into her attention. Not that Jaskier thought he would. But if they wanted to stay in the tavern for the next two days and keep favour within the town they would have to act a certain way, pander to their hosts. Not cause trouble.

Apparently though, the barmaid isn’t bothered by his lack of replies, sitting next to them. And really, Jaskier wants to stop playing, storm over and throw himself into Geralt’s lap, stake his claim and run the barmaid off with a flash of too sharp teeth. But really, he inwardly snorts to himself, fingers not misplacing any chords, playing on autopilot. He knew he didn’t need to do that. Knew Geralt would grumble, not keen on the outward display of affection amongst people they couldn’t trust.

So instead, he manages to tear his eyes away, going back to playing and focusing on the task at hand.

It’s two hours later when he watches Geralt take Ciri up to their room. Bidding the barmaid a terse goodnight as they scoot around her. Geralt sends a wink his way when they manage to lock eyes before he goes up the stairs. And Jaskier finishes his set shortly after that. Grabbing his coin and bidding everyone a good night before heading upstairs himself. Heart already racing.

Geralt is in their nest when he opens the door, and he takes care to lock it afterwards. And Ciri is in her bed, stretched out and reading. She was re-reading one of the books Vesemir had given her in Kaer Morhen.

“Jask.” Geralt drawls, looking up from where he was sharpening his swords.

“I got enough for dye. We can move on a little earlier if you both want?”

“Nooooo.” Ciri protests, although it’s through a yawn. “I want a bed for a few more days. And.” She smirks then. “You only want to move on because you’re jealous. Did you see her, hanging around us all night?” She’s laughing at him, although not unkindly. Eyes sparkling with mischief and he rolls his own back at her.

“I did. She at least seemed to be a good conversation partner.”

“Hmm.” Geralt makes a noise and Ciri slaps at him. “Stop being mean." She pauses. “She did talk a lot though. And it’s annoying when it’s not you.” She shrugs, and Jaskier’s heart only has a second to warm before Geralt is snorting.

“It’s annoying when he does it as well.” 

“Oi!” Jaskier can’t help it, laughing as he pounces on Geralt, going to tickle him and shove him back, mindful of the swords that Geralt let’s clatter to the floorboards. “Take it back!”

“You’re both so gross.” Ciri groans. “Seriously.”

Geralt had caught him, hands on his waist and grinning even as Jaskier tried to tickle, immovable as he held Jaskier at arms length.

“Says you.” Jaskier laughs, leaning over to the bed that’s next to the nest, knowing Geralt won’t let him overbalance and fall as he shoves at her gently. “Little Miss Will Happily Bathe in Mud.”

“Mud is good for the skin.” She sniffs. “Yenn told me.”

“Yes, herbalist mud. Not just, every day actual mud. Mud that probably has horse shit in it.”

“EW!” She shrieks, making as if to throw the book at him. “I’m gonna tell Yenn you said she was wrong!”

“I didn’t say she was wrong! I said she wasn’t specific enough. If you’re gonna tattle on me at least do it right.”

They had met up with Yennefer briefly since leaving Kaer Morhen. But she had been needed at Aretuza, remnants of the war still causing chaos. So it had only been a short visit. Enough for Ciri to be able to fill her in on how her power had been growing. As well as enough time for Jaskier to have another drink with her, both knowingly looking at each other over the cups, only to smirk when Geralt had asked what they were up to.

They weren’t up to anything. But since their bonding session the few years prior, they now had an understanding. And part of that understanding, was making sure to tease Geralt whenever they could.

Geralt had told her they were together before she had even spoken to Ciri. And all she had done was laugh and shake her head with a knowing look at the bard before moving on as if nothing had ever happened. Really, he could see them becoming very good friends. Especially given her constant need to cause trouble.

“I’m totally gonna tell her.” Ciri huffs, bringing him back to the present and he sticks his tongue out at her which she mimics before pointedly going back to her book.

“You do that.” He teases right back before wiggling out of Geralt’s grip to fall beside him, lounging back and stretching. He looks up, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully and Geralt just raises one back. Although it’s the one that means he understands and not the one that’s just general curiosity.

They’d talk when Ciri was asleep.

-

It’s good that Ciri slept like the dead, because if not she’d be awake for hours with their nightly hushed conversations.

“Hm.” Geralt grunts, stretched out under the sheets on his side facing Jaskier, one hand on the bards hip drawing meaningless lines into his skin with his fingertips. Ciri had just fallen asleep, given that his grunt is a lot more hushed than it had been. And Jaskier takes that as his cue.

“So. Are we going to talk about before? Because I smelt that on you. You can’t hide that shit from me.”

Geralt laughs then, barely a rumble in his chest. “I wouldn’t want to.”

“So.” Jaskier pokes him gently in the chest. “Explain yourself.”

“What’s there to tell?” He lowers his voice even further, and Jaskier knows he definitely wouldn’t be able to hear if he weren’t a dragon. “Seeing you jealous. It’s fucking hot.”

Jaskier hisses at the blunt words and groans. “Shit. Next time we get a room to ourselves, i’m fucking you senseless okay?”

Geralt just smirks, because of course he does. Jaskier has to sober the moment though and ask- “But really, it doesn’t bother you?”

“No, why would it?”

“Because you’re your own person who doesn’t belong to me?”

“I know that.” Geralt shrugs under his hand from where it was resting in the crook of his neck. “But I think you and I have different feelings about jealousy. I know that you know that you don’t own me.”

The nights made Geralt a lot less afraid to speak. And as the dark grew, if they were safe in a bed, then he was a lot more open. Jaskier loved it. Loved that he was the one Geralt was the most open with, the person that he wanted to be open with, sharing words and affection when he felt comfortable enough and almost always felt comfortable around Jaskier.

“But jealousy is fairly natural when you see someone flirting with your partner. That’s just how brains work.” He thinks for a second. “Most of them.”

“Oh.” Jaskier hadn’t thought of that. Even with his experience with jealous spouses or potential courtiers. He’d been stabbed plenty of times, he really did think he’d get it by now. “But you know then that my uh, jealousy.” Oh how he hated that word in reference to himself. “It’s not because I think I own you or anything right? Like, you know I don’t think that.”

“I do.”

“Okay. Okay good.”

“Are you going to tell me why this is a constant fear of yours one day?” And ah, a more open Geralt meant more questions.

“I mean probably. Hopefully. Just. Not right now.”

“No. Not right now.” Geralt leans in then, wrapping his arm tightly around Jaskier, pulling him close until Jaskier can bury his nose in Geralt’s chest. “One day. I’de like you to tell me.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all you can do sweetheart.” Jaskier grins then at the pet name, feeling such a rush of love that chokes his throat. All he can do to answer is kiss Geralt’s bare chest, nosing in closer and breathing in the smell of thunderstorms and sunshine that he’d gotten used to.

“Love you.” He mutters, and feels Geralt’s arm tighten.

“Love you too.”

-

It’s two more nights of the same. Playing to a crowd that thankfully wants to listen and participate while he keeps one eye on the barmaid that hovers around Ciri and Geralt’s table. 

And it’s made even more annoying because she’s perfectly nice and kind to all of them, even him. Especially when they go down for lunch, slipping them a bit more food or ale as she chatted. Honestly, he feels bad for disliking her, the jealousy taking over even when he tries his hardest to push it down.

The morning after their last evening, Jaskier had headed out early to get the dye from the local healers, coming back in time to meet Geralt and Ciri at the bottom of the stairs.

“Got it?” Ciri asks, fluttering around him excitedly given that he promised that when they got to the next stream he’d dye it and cut it for her. 

“I do.”

“Got what?” The barmaid asks once again and he turns, seeing her at the bar, eyes firmly on Geralt. Probably realising that this was her last chance to say anything or do anything.

“Just some dye.” He bristles, and then rolls his eyes at himself. “Grey hairs, you know how it is.” A self deprecating joke was better than none at all at least and she laughs.

“Hmm, I guess only your witcher could pull off the grey look so well.”

“I doubt that.” He’s jerked suddenly to the side, startled enough that he goes with it and he’s pulled into Geralt’s side. Geralt keeps his arm around Jaskier’s waist and kisses the side of his head. “I think he’d suit grey, don’t you think Fiona?”

“Oh definitely.” She nods, all three gauging the barmaid’s shocked reaction. She splutters for a second, face redding.

“I can’t believe you let me make such a fool of myself bard!” She gasps, hands going to her chest as she shakes her head. “Men, you’re all the same.”

Oddly enough, she’s taking it rather well and he shrugs.

“Eh, you don’t know how small towns can be. Better not to say anything.”

“No that’s true. Well, be off with you then. Leave me to my embarrassment in peace.” She’s acting put upon, but Jaskier can see her smile so he goes up and briefly kiss one of her hands.

“I’m sorry for not telling you. But now we must be off. Thank you for being such a gracious host.” He acts into her behaviour, feeling terrible really for how he had acted, and he breathes a sigh of relief when she just laughs and bats him away.

“Go, take care of your grey hairs.”

“Bye!” Ciri calls as they leave, Geralt shuffling them out and then they’re on the road again.

-

They stop to set up camp earlier than usual because they find a river that Ciri can use for her hair.

“Okay, so we cut first and then dye it.” Jaskier talks as he gets the dye and scissors out from his pack, watching Ciri as she bounced around the camp with excitement.

“Yes okay! I was thinking shoulder length, just past them.” She sits on one of the drier logs, folding her hands in her lap as she waits.

“Okay, i’ll cut it in increments. Because we can always cut it shorter but we can’t sew the hair back on.”

“Very true.” She nods, and then wiggles. “Oh i’m so excited okay okay. I’m sitting still.”

Geralt chuckles at that, sitting opposite them as he builds the fire up.

“Alright, please do actually sit still. I’ll start with a few inches and see how we go.” She does still, although the excitement is radiating off her in waves as he eventually cuts her hair in inches until it brushes just past her shoulders. Still long enough to tie up, but no longer down her back.

“Oh grandmother would never let me do this, this feels so nice!” She runs a hand through it once she’s done as Jaskier throws the spare hair onto the fire, grimacing at the smell. It’s better than having it be used to track her though. He sees Geralt grimace too and shrugs.

“Well, i’m glad we can do this for you. Now, to the river?” He’s also glad she can mention her family now without crying. Not that he’d ever fault her for doing so, and he knows she will until the day she passes. Grief was like that. But it’s nice that she feels comfortable enough to mention them in passing with positive memories attached instead of their last moments.

“Yes yes yes!” He knows she’s missed a good chunk of her early teen years to war and grief, so the over excitement doesn’t come as a surprise, her reclaiming some of that time back. He just grins at her, nodding eagerly himself.

“Well then lead the way!”

She carries on talking as she goes, babbling about maybe sewing up one of her older dresses into something new, about how Geralt had been teaching her stitching so she could reuse one of her other dresses that had been ripped in a surprise monster attack to add to the old dress in time for the ball.

“Sounds great sweet pea. Have you spoken about it with Geralt?”

“Yes! He said we can start work on it soon. We just have to plan. I think we’re taking the corset aspect out of it too, the bones in it hurt.” She frowns then, thinking about it and he nods.

“Maybe use them to structure something else?”

“Oh maybe an elaborate headpiece.” She giggles, hands going to her head to make shapes even as she kneels by the river, tipping her head forward. “It’s fucking cold.”

“Worth it though. And don’t let Geralt hear you say that.”

“I can hear from back here!” Geralt calls, obscured by a sparse line of trees separating the river, more of a brook really, from the camp and Ciri giggles, sitting up straight.

“So we have to wet my hair first yes?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “And then dry it, oh good you grabbed a towel, until it’s damp and then we put this on.” He wiggles the large jar of murky brown dye. “And wait for however long we can. And then rinse it all out."

“Okay. It looks like mud.” She eyes it for a second, sitting on her heels and he uncorks the lid.

“Doesn’t smell like it though. It smells like rosemary.”

“Okay.” She eyes it.

“You’re not a stranger to mud anyway.”

“I’m still telling Yenn.”

He laughs at her indignant tone. “Shut up and dunk your head.”

She rolls her eyes but does so, gasping as she comes up for air because of the cold. “Fuck!”

“Hey! Look. Here, towel.” He presses the towel into her hand and she takes it, muttering under her breath as she roughly dries her hair off.

“It’s gonna be worth it.” She mutters, and Jaskier barely holds back his laugh.

“Okay, wrap the towel around your shoulders, come on.” She does, clasping it at her chest as he scoops out some of the dye and unceremoniously wipes it onto her hair, applying it much like soap as he rubs it in.

It takes most of the pot and getting both of his hands dirty to rub it all in evenly, making sure all of her hair is coated. And once it warms up a little she stops complaining.

“It does actually smell nice.”

“Hmm. Like I said, rosemary.”

“Can you smell that because of your human nose or because of your dragon nose?”

“The human nose can smell the rosemary. The dragon nose can smell the undertones of a crushed up tree and it’s bark and what is also possibly another earthy substance. It could be clay as a binding agent. Oh also some cloves.”

“So there is mud in this.”

“Clay isn’t mud.”

“It sort of is.”

“You’re not complaining.”

“You’re the only one with the vendetta against mud here Jaskier.”

She’s not wrong, and he finishes up with a gentle flick to the back of her head before he washes his hands in the running water, drying them reluctantly on his shirt before Ciri gets up and they head back to their little camp.

“All sorted?” Geralt asks before he looks up.

“Nearly. Just gotta wait an hour then we can rinse it out and Fiona will have a whole new head of hair.”

“Smells nice at least.” Geralt shrugs. “Didn’t think mud could smell that nice.”

“BEAST!” Ciri shrieks as Jaskier falls about laughing, almost actually toppling over as he sits on his and Geralt’s bedroll. “You’re the worst dads ever!” 

All three of them freeze then, and Jaskier turns to her where she stands, her face steadily growing a darker and darker shade of red. It’s an odd sight, her bright red with her hair piled in a brown muddy mess on top of her head. But he thinks that a confession like that wouldn’t happen any other way.

“I’ll have you know.” Jaskier starts, wanting to break the quiet and proud of himself for how his voice doesn’t shake with the rush of fond emotion he feels. “I am the best dad. Thank you very much.”

“Jaskier.” She gasps the word, eyes wide with fear that he’s glad to see is slowly turning into relief. “You’re too flighty to be a dad.”

“Don’t speak to your father that way.” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier whips his head up to see him smirking at Ciri, shit eating grin spreading across his face before Ciri throws a stick at him.

“You’re both the worst. I take back what I said.” She sits next to Jaskier, crossing her legs as she reaches to her pack to get out her sketchbook, a newer purchase.

“Too late.” Jaskier sing-songs, knocking their shoulders together. “But it’s okay, we never have to talk about it again. We’ll just be smug and happy forever.”

She doesn’t reply, instead she makes a point of ignoring him, face still flushed and he drops it. Although he does bump her shoulder gently with his own.

One of his bonded doing the human version of bonding with him. It makes his heart sing, head feeling woozy with how happy he is. He wiggles to himself, unable to stop the beam that's on his face. He’d been surprised when Ciri had accepted the initial bond, and to be thought of as a parental figure in her own words is more than he ever thought he could have.

“You’re face is gonna stick like that.” Ciri grouses.

“So let it.”

“Urg.”

He just chuckles, reaching for his lute, and let’s himself play out his joy until it’s time to wash out the dye.

-

Geralt climbs into their bedrolls later that evening after Ciri had gone to sleep. Hair a soft brown colour around her shoulders, carefully tied up by Geralt’s own nimble fingers. She was snoring softly, the beginning of a cold that Jaskier makes a mental note to keep an eye on.

“So how badly did you want to cry?” He asks as he turns over, arms instantly going around Geralt’s waist.

“I don’t cry.”

“Bullshit, your eyes were watering. I could see them.”

“Jask, witchers can’t cry.”

“They also say you don’t have feelings but that’s not fucking true either.”

“No, I think they took my tear ducts out.”

“Gross. Also inhumane.”

“Told you.”

“Urg.” He nuzzles into Geralt’s chest, grimacing thinking about Geralt’s treatment.

“Hm.” Geralt kisses the top of his head and he tilts his head back, leaning in for a proper kiss.

“I almost cried.” He admits, and Geralt smiles. It’s small and indulgent, and Jaskier stifles a laugh when he rolls his eyes.

“I know you did.”

“She really thinks that huh?” He can’t keep the giddy tone out of his voice, and he headbutts Geralt gently to try and get some of his excitement out. “I could fly with happiness.”

“It’s nice, knowing she thinks that. I’m glad she feels that way.”

“Shit, we’re her dads.”

“We are.” Jaskier looks up to find Geralt smiling and leans over to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I can’t believe we’re here. This is, well it’s the last place I expected us to end up.”

“I’m glad we’re here though.” When he’s like this, Geralt always speaks softly. As if speaking any louder will alert somebody or something of his happiness and take it away. So different to how he was in Kaer Morhen and it hurts Jaskier’s heart.

Slowly though, Jaskier was making sure he felt secure and safe when they were out in the world. Like now, he squeezes Geralt’s hip, pulling him as close as he can.

“I am too, my love.”

“Hmm, I saw you almost burst with happiness.”

“I really did.” Jaskier wiggles. “It’s different than just accepting the bond. It means so much knowing that she created her own bond.” It’s hard explaining it. The feeling.

Geralt grunts, and Jaskier wiggles again when he feels Geralt nose at his hair. “Well you’re our bard. Of course she would bond in her own way.”

“Just like you did?”

“Mostly.” Geralt growls, rolling his hips forward just a fraction and chuckles when Jaskier whines almost silently. Knowing they can’t do anything with Ciri across camp.

“Fucking tease.”

“Hm, that’s why you love me.”

“Do you want me to list all the reasons I love you? Because we’ll be here for hours.”

“That a threat?”

“Maybe.” He grins up cheekily, laughing into Geralt’s mouth when he leans down to kiss him.

“Go to sleep love.”

“Hmm.” He snuggles close, smiling at the protective arm Geralt throws around his back, wiggling his arm underneath Jaskier’s head so he can rest on it. “Night my love.”

“Night Jask.”

-

They spend the next few days on the road. Passing through towns but not stopping.

“Seriously. Can we not stop somewhere with a bed?” Ciri whines on the fourth day, and Jaskier would be agreeing with her if he knew they didn’t have to make time.

“You can get an entire room to yourself when we get there sweet pea.”

“Urg.” She’s slumped behind Geralt, head resting on his back as they trot along the road. It’s weird seeing a small head of brown hair behind Geralt instead of blonde, but he knows he’ll get used to it.

Given her small confession, she had been a lot more open with her feelings which was nice. Even if it meant that they hear her complaining a lot more. It just meant she was comfortable.

“We’ve got two more days.” Geralt grunts.

“That’s too long.” She huffs, but doesn’t say anymore.

Not until another twenty minutes have passed anyway. Jaskier had gone back to playing, trusting Buttercup to follow Roach like she always did but he stops when Ciri speaks up again.

“Can we stop in the next town for a proper meal at least please.”

“We’ve got the coin for it.” Jaskier adds, tone wheedling a little and he watches as Geralt’s shoulders tense in the way he means he’s thinking, and then relax, although he turns his head specifically so he and Ciri can see him roll his eyes.

“Fine.”

Ciri punches the air before wobbling, hurriedly going to clutch back at Geralt’s waist. “Just for lunch, we can even be very quick I promise.”

Geralt just grunts, and Ciri flashes Jaskier a thumbs up behind her back, making Jaskier cackle as they continue their journey.

-

Over the days of travel, Ciri and Geralt work on her dress. They would pick her up a new one in Oxenfurt so she would have a few outfits to change into. But Jaskier watches their delight as they create a new one from the old during the evenings.

It’s quiet in its domesticity, although they bicker back and forth about what’s best, and Jaskier feels his heart melt as Geralt teaches Ciri how to sew properly, showing her different techniques as they slowly start stitching her a new dress.

The old corset boning gets reused but for detail instead, the whittling lessons Ciri had learnt from Vesemir getting used to detail the boning to be used within the neckline of the dress.

Her old dress too is used, being inserted into the top part of the dress given both fabrics were of deep green colours, and the difference in them complimented the other beautifully. With the extra fabric, the sleeves are elongated to points that attach at her finger too.

He’s surprised that Geralt knows about dresses. Or making them at least. Because the sewing made sense, he had to stitch up his armour and clothes sometimes as well as himself. Even though Jaskier did that now, especially when it was in spots he couldn’t reach himself.

But knowing about making clothes was different. So the night before they get to Oxenfurt he asks, tucking into one of the rabbits he had caught them.

“How do you know how to make dresses? I’m impressed.” He says it truthfully, smiling at Geralt across the campfire. “I never pegged you as one to hold that knowledge.”

Geralt just shrugs, as always. Although when he looks at his hands, Jaskier can see him smiling, just a little. “I used to make my own clothes, back when I first started out and had no money. It was cheaper to buy a bolt of cloth than it was to keep buying shirts. I didn’t make dresses back then, but it makes sense when you know the basics.”

Jaskier doesn’t realise he’s resting his head in his hand, leaning his elbow on his knee until he sighs, although he doesn’t bother to move, rabbit forgotten. “I’m so in love with you it’s unreal.”

“Oh gross.” Ciri gags. “Finish your rabbit before I actually vomit.”

“You’ll be like this one day.” Jaskier sniffs, and finally looks over to Geralt who is trying to catch his eye. When Jaskier finally looks he just raises an eyebrow. But then he smiles, a little bashfully, and shrugs helplessly. And Jaskier knows if it were just them he’d currently be pinned to the floor and ravished.

So he just leers back, laughing when Geralt frowns and huffs, getting a shove to his shoulder from Ciri.

“Gross.” She grimaces again. And Jaskier’s laughter filters into the night.

-

Jaskier is unsurprised by the fanfare that greets them when they get to Oxenfurt. And his draconic pride swells at the welcome that’s practically showered on them as they enter the university.

“Master Julian!” A voice greets after they’ve handed the horses off to one of the stableboys, and Jaskier turns to beam at the now wizened professor.

“Professor Hawthorn!” He bows low, laughing at the clip around his ear she gives him. “Thank you for the welcome!”

She was the professor that knew, and had been protecting him for years, and with him returning the sense of protectiveness for her comes back in full force. Especially seeing how much she’s aged now, bones visible as spectacles balance precariously on her nose.

“Well of course.” She laughs. “Who are your guests?” Turning to Geralt and Ciri who were waiting and fidgeting behind Jaskier, she grins, and he almost laughs when he watches them try their best not to smile back too awkwardly.

“Ah, this is my family. Geralt and Fiona respectively.” He introduces, almost tripping and introducing them as his bonded. The most important people in his life, the people he would die for, how Geralt was his soulmate. How Ciri was practically his daughter.

Family would do.

She laughs though, as if she knows what he means and holds a hand out to both of them in turn, smiling even wider as they awkwardly shake. “Well this is just wonderful. Come, i’ll send to get an extra room prepared. You’re lucky you’re early Julian. We can get you adjoining rooms.”

“That would be brilliant thank you.” He says as he follows her, feeling like a student again as the three of them follow her like baby ducklings.

It feels like home, being back inside the walls of the university, and he takes a deep breath as they walk, getting used to the new smells and sounds as they navigate the well worn hallways, smiling at people as they pass, most of whom are carrying supplies for the event.

“Here we are. You’re not expected to perform tonight Julian, but you will be given a schedule. We have a few others performing too.”

“Don’t tell me he’s here?” He grimaces and she laughs, automatically knowing who he means.

“Valdo Marx has not come back this year. Too busy for us lowly educators.” Jaskier doesn’t miss the acidity and contempt in her voice, and is very glad he wheedled Geralt into coming back.

“Well that just means the atmosphere will be lighter then.” He smooths over. “Thank you, is dinner still at the same time?”

“Of course. Now i’ll leave you to it.” She leaves with a nod, and Jaskier hustles the bewildered pair into their rooms.

“Who’s Valdo Marx?” Ciri asks, and Geralt actually laughs then as he shuts the door.

“Don’t get him started Ciri. He’ll never shut up.”

“I resent that.” Jaskier hisses. “Valdo Marx is an absolute shit stain. Scum of the earth. A cad! A no good do nothing bastard!”

“He insulted Jask once-”

“He insulted me my entire time here Geralt!-”

“You wished death upon him!” Geralt is chuckling, and with the door shut now he comes over to Jaskier, smoothing his hands down the bards arms. “Really, you hold an impressive grudge.”

“Okay gross, i’ll find out later. I’m assuming this door is to my room?” Ciri is asking, even as she’s marching to the second door and flinging it open, finding a room much like the one they’re currently in but with a single bed instead of a double and there’s a bath in the corner surrounded by partitions. “Oh this is lovely. I’m calling first bath!”

“Fine.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, and makes a happy note that there’s no secondary door out so nobody could get into her room without going through theirs first. And the windows are small enough that nobody could get through those.

Good. Nobody could get her there, and although she could take care of herself, it was nice knowing she was especially safe.

“Wake me up for dinner, don’t be loud.” She says, and shuts the door firmly. Jaskier tilts his head, listening to her put her bag down and starts sorting through her things, and with the normality of the actions he focuses back on Geralt.

“He’s a bastard you know.” Geralt’s hands are still on his arms, rubbing circles into the fabric with his thumbs, and he laughs when Geralt hums.

“So you said.”

“Thank you, for letting us come back here.” He wraps his own arms around Geralt’s waist, pulling him close so that Geralt has to wind his own arms around his neck.

“I’m glad we did. You look good here, happier. Content.”

“It’s safe here.” Jaskier tilts his head to nuzzle at Geralt’s jaw. “It was my first proper home.”

“Will I hate the promised dinner?”

“Oh absolutely. You think i’m bad?” He scoffs. “Wait till you hear some of the bards here.” Tilting his own head back when Geralt mimics his movement he sighs into the soft touch, knowing Geralt was scenting him, cared enough to. It was nice.

“I never said you were bad.”

“No you just imply it with every eye roll.” He tightens his grip, chuckling lowly when Geralt nips at his jaw for the tease.

“Guess I better prepare myself then.”

“Seriously, you’ll have to.” Jaskier warns. 

“We’ll see.”

-

Jaskier watches as Geralt almost breaks his goblet with how hard his irritated grip is and deftly takes it from him, threading his fingers through Geralt’s own to hold them on the table. 

He barely resists saying ‘I told you so’ as Geralt grits his teeth. 

There are about six separate conversations going on over the long table they’re seated at, and at least three of the seven bards have instruments out and are playing them. Jaskier sniffs at the lack of tact, but is able to ignore it after having grown up in such a similar environment. Plus most of the time in the halls, he had been the one with his lute out.

At least he’d grown out of it.

Glancing past Geralt to Ciri, he finds her speaking with the girl next to her, both looking a little overwhelmed but already companionable. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief at that, and notes that the girl is the daughter of one of the professors and the relief sinks in further.

“Look at her making friends.” He whispers proudly in Geralt’s ear, bringing their joined hands up to kiss Geralt’s knuckles.

Geralt just grunts, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, a little more comfortable here than he would be in a tavern somewhere due to Jaskier’s comfort. Although Jaskier would never try this out somewhere he knew neither were comfortable. And Geralt knows that too.

He squeezes once, a silent check in, and relaxes when Geralt squeezes back.

“So.” There’s a student opposite them and he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. Jaskier likes him a lot better than the ones who had their instruments out already. “I know how you met, because everyones knows the story.” Jaskier pouts as Geralt rolls his eyes at that. “But when did you become a proper thing? Honestly, we all thought it was unrequited on Julians part.”

“Hey!” He protests, pride flaring a little under his skin. And promptly he decides he doesn’t like this bard either. Geralt just squeezes his hand to keep him where he is.

It works too, Jaskier relaxes his metaphorical hackles and slumps back.

“Never unrequited.” Geralt says, with too much confidence for something that is definitely a lie considering he didn’t even understand what his feelings were for a while and even those feelings weren’t until a few decades in.

But it’s a defence towards the student who was close to pitying. So Jaskier doesn’t say anything, although he definitely will later.

“Oh? It took you so long though. Julian was pining for years, honestly we were getting worried.” He’s leaning forward even further now, and Jaskier just know he's trying to get a story from it. Their story. So he sits back and does his best Geralt impression. The only ballad written about him and his witcher would be from him thank you. Also, the offence he feels from the last comment that was definitely sarcastic really riles him. Who did this guy think he was?

“Well you can’t rush these things.” Geralt just holds onto his hand tighter. “You’ll find out about it when you’re older kid. Less naive.” Geralt takes a sip of his drink. “And hopefully less obvious in your fishing for gossip too. It’s unbecoming.”

Jaskier watches as the guy splutters, sitting back with wide eyes as a deep flush crosses his features. “I gotta-” And then he’s up, legs shaking a little as he walks off.

Somebody laughs, and both Jaskier and Geralt turn to the head of the table where another professor was seated, sipping at her own drink. “Be prepared for a badly written yet scathing ballad written about you witcher. Nathaniel has his pride hurt far too easily.”

“Can’t be any worse than what Jaskier has written.”

Jaskier gasps, unlinking their fingers to slap at him. “I resent that-”

“And anyway. Nobody insults my bard.” Geralt just carries on over him, nonchalant as he uses his free hand now to tuck back into his food properly and if Jaskier wasn’t in public he’s pretty sure he’d swoon.

His head hurts from the quick change in emotion, but really. How could Geralt do that to him, say something that Jaskier knew meant a lot more and not expect him to react in any way. For his small smirk, Jaskier knows he knows what he’s doing too.

Instead of doing what he wants, which is to dramatically fall into Geralt’s side and make a big deal out of what he said, pride at being the one Geralt loved and possessive nature wanting to trill at the fact that he was Geralt’s, he instead just locks his ankle around Geralt’s under the table and tunes in to a different conversation.

-

Later than night, he swoons as he had wanted to earlier, right into Geralt’s arms after changing into sleep pants, giggling as Geralt just gently lowers him onto the bed. He rolls to his back, wiggling so he’s properly under Geralt, hands going to rest against Geralt’s chest as he thumbs over the skin there, catching on some of the scars there.

Geralt is chuckling above him as he straddles Jaskier’s thighs.

Ciri had gone to sleep a while ago, safe in the other room and tired out from the socialisation. 

“Can’t believe you lied to that kid, it wasn’t always requited Geralt you know that.” He tilts his head back though as he talks, letting Geralt kiss at his jaw, his neck, stopping at his collarbones to suck a bruise there and Jaskier’s toes curl in pleasure at the sting of the bite.

“Hmm, it is now though.” He just bites a little harder with his comment, licking over the skin afterwards before moving to mouth at the junction between Jaskier’s neck and shoulder.

“Very true.” Jaskier wiggles his hips, laughing when Geralt grunts at the friction on his dick.

“Fuck me c’mon.”

“So impatient my love.” Jaskier chides, but reaches up to tilt Geralt’s mouth towards him to kiss him properly, wasting no time and licking straight into his mouth. “Oil?” He asks when he breaks away and Geralt nods, leaning over to the small table by the bed to grab the vial.

“Don’t know why you even bothered getting pants on.” He growls, uncorking the vial with his teeth with one hand, and pushing at Jaskier’s waistband with the other.

“Just to tease, my love.” He helps, pushing his pants down and kicking them off before reaching for Geralt’s own, tugging until they’re gone too.

“Fucker.”

“S’why you love me, hmm, turn around c’mon wanna see.” Geralt turns around, passing Jaskier the vial and Jaskier sits up, awkwardly kneeling as Geralt kneels, dropping his head to his arms and chest to the bed.

“Get on with it.” He growls, stinking of lust and want. And Jaskier gently slaps his ass when he swings it.

“Hmm, don’t want to rush this love.” He oils his fingers up, gently setting the vial back on the table before leaning forward, kissing up Geralt’s back and then down again, biting as he goes until he gets to Geralt’s ass.

He swipes one of his fingers over Geralt’s hole, humming at Geralt’s impatient hiss before tapping inside of his thighs, placing an open mouthed kiss to the small of Geralt’s back when he parts them even further, leaving himself more open.

Sitting back on his heels, Jaskier thumbs over his hole once again, delighting at the shiver it gets him and the sway of hips before slowly inserting his first finger.

Once he’s to the knuckle he waits as Geralt gets used to it. It had taken a while for Geralt to let him do this, take care of him, even when the witcher said he could take things. Prep was always the most important part. And even if he could take two fingers straight away with only a little sting, that sting was still too much if it wasn’t pleasurable.

“There you go my darling.” He whispers when Geralt starts to grind back, shifting his hips and he adds the second, waiting again before he starts to scissor them, pushing in and out and feeling until he finds Geralt’s sweet spot. He smiles when he hits it, grinning even further hearing the choked off hine it gets from Geralt, one that’s quickly buried into the crook of his arm so as not to make too much noise. “That’s it my love.” He praises. “So good, my own. Doing so well.”

“For fucks sake Jask, fuck me.” Geralt grits out as Jaskier continues to massage his prostate and Jaskier just tuts.

“One more finger sweetheart then we’ll see hmm? See how good you’ve been.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Sorta the opposite of what we’re doing here darlin’.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe after i’ve fucked you hm?” He laughs at Geralt’s exasperated huff, knowing that it’s definitely a possibility.

He adds a third finger, and soon Geralt is writhing back against them, openly panting as Jaskier holds out, hard and leaking against his own thigh. 

He wasn’t bothered though, not much. Too focused on making sure his bonded was satisfied. “Think you can come from my fingers alone?” He gasps, surging forward to lean over Geralt, fully lean his weight against his back as he bites down harshly on Geralt’s shoulder. Still fingering him sloppily, pressing against Geralt’s prostate with every thrust, grinding his fingers into the spot to make Geralt keen against him, pushing back into his grip.

“My love please.” He gasps back, and Jaskier bites at his neck, sucking what he hopes is a bruise into the soft skin there earning himself a quiet moan.

“Want just my fingers? Or want me to touch you my love?” He presses his dick into the swell of Geralt’s ass, grinding there for a second just for the friction.

“Just, fingers. Please.” He’s wanton, mouth open and panting against his own forearm and Jaskier leans further forward to kiss at his cheek and already sweaty temple.

It was wonderful, seeing how easily and quickly he could make Geralt become undone, a panting writhing mess. He was so honoured, knowing he was the only one. It only gets him harder and he has to pull his hips away, leaning back onto his heels so he doesn't come too soon, just from the sight before him.

Leaning down though, a little to distract himself and a lot because he wants to hear the noise Geralt will make, he leans forward and licks at Geralt’s rim around his fingers, getting the cut off moan he wants and grins into the soft skin of Geralt’s ass before leaning back in to swipe the flat of his tongue messily around his digits.

It’s wet and messy, and by the time Geralt is thrusting back onto his face he’s covered with oil and spit as he licks at Geralt’s ass. Once or twice managing to push the tip in along with his fingers, drinking in every little moan Geralt makes, almost drunk off it.

From there it’s only a minute or two before Geralt comes, desperately grinding back against Jaskier’s face and hand before he shudders, moaning through his teeth sunk into his arm as he tries to keep quiet. 

“Oh my own.” Jaskier moans, just from the sight of Geralt coming undone and with his free hand has to gip himself to stop himself from coming just from that. “You need a minute?” 

Geralt just grunts, staying there for a second while Jaskier runs his hands up and down his back soothingly before he rises, turning around almost too fast and Jaskier falls back against the pillows.

“You okay there my darling?” He chuckles, letting Geralt pull him down the bed a little, straddling his thighs. “Wait, here hold on.” He grabs the vial again as Geralt stills, sitting on Jaskier’s thighs as he waits, raking his eyes appreciatively up and down Jaskier’s body.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” He breathes. “So glad you’re mine. Hurry up.”

“Doing it love.” Jaskier preens, quickly slicking himself up before replacing the vial again. “Go, now.”

He moans at Geralt’s hand on his dick, own dick already hardening back up on his messy stomach, come still dripping down onto Jaskier’s own which will be a bitch to clean up later given his hair but it’s worth it.

Especially with the harsh breath Geralt lets out as guides Jaskier’s dick into his ass and they both gasp when he starts to sink down.

It’s almost already too much, the hot wet heat of Geralt. And the way he squeezes down with every hitched breath.

“Fuck you feel so good my sweet.” He moans, and then promptly copies Geralt from before and bites at his own arm, because really they didn’t want to wake Ciri up. Especially with this.

“Love you. Shit.” Geralt bottoms out and throws his head back, holding still as his hands scramble to find purchase in the sheets until they settle on Jaskiers chest, flexing as he gets used to the feeling, head rolling on his shoulders in lieu of making sounds.

“Hmm, my own.” He murmurs, getting cut off when Geralt clenches around him. “Fuck.”

And then Geralt starts moving, and Jaskier almost whites out. He’d be worried, but every time was like this. Their connection, their bond, his love for Geralt enhancing everything.

“Fuck-” He gasps, before biting down harshly on his arm to stop him from saying anything else.

“Jask.” Geralt husks, just rocking in place barely, enough to tease.

Jaskier goes to say something, anything, but then Geralt seems to plant his hands a little more firmly on his chest and rises up, just a little and drops back down, pushing a grunt from the both of them.

Then he does it again, throwing his head back and Jaskier moves his hands from where they had been uselessly lying by his head to Geralt’s hips, gripping and guiding him as much as he can as he continues to rise and fall, the pressure and movement going straight to his head as he gets lost in the rhythm.

It doesn't take too long before Geralt is practically bouncing on his dick, muscled thighs rippling as he uses them to move, Jaskier doing nothing but holding him at the waist as Geralt set the pace, whining near silently every time he bottomed out.

“My love. My own, my darling, my sweetheart.” Jaskier is babbling, eyes unable to leave Geralt’s blissed out expression. “Fuck you wanna come again? Gonna come on my cock?”

“Yes.” Geralt hisses, and Jaskier grips at his hips harder. Holding him in place as best he can, he starts to thrust up with every downstroke of Geralt’s and Geralt chokes on a breath at the sudden movement. “Shit, my love.”

“That’s it.” He’s almost too wrapped up in Geralt’s own pleasure to feel his own orgasm building, the sounds of flesh on flesh fuelling his desire with every thrust. And Geralt is only pushing him further, clenching on every downstroke, breath coming out in gasps as he keeps his mouth open and pliant, trying not to make too much noise. “Come for me love. My own please.”

Geralt is nodding, leaning back trusting Jaskier has a tight enough hold on him and it takes a few more thrusts before he comes again over Jaskier’s chest. He clenches down as he comes, falling forward to bury his moan into Jaskier’s shoulder and with that Jaskier comes too, spilling inside of geralt as he moans into Geralt’s ear, clutching at him tightly as he grinds his hips into Geralt until he’s finished, babbling nonsense into his ear until he stops.

“Fuck.” Geralt collapses onto him, knowing that Jaskier can take his full weight due to him being a dragon and huffs into his ear. Nosing underneath his jaw and biting gently in his own show of possessiveness that Jaskier knows would get him hard again if he weren’t so tired.

“My own.” He kisses Geralt’s temple, before very carefully pulling out, hissing at the feeling on his overly sensitive dick. “I need a bath tomorrow fuck.”

Geralt just chuckles, running his fingers through the mess on Jaskier’s chest to spread it even further. “You’re disgusting.” Jaskier just sighs, but accepts the kiss Geralt gives him anyway.

“Gonna smell like me. Hmm. My Jask.” Geralt says as he starts cleaning them up with Jaskier’s tossed shirt.

“Yours.” Jaskier leans up, kissing Geralt again when he’s finished. Brain foggy with contentedness.

“Yours.” Geralt mimics, before rearranging them and pulling the covers over them, almost all from Jaskier’s blanket hoard. And in his last thoughts before he drifts off he vows to make a very nice nest the next day.

-

He wakes early that morning, before Geralt even, to get ready for the day’s festivities. He wasn’t performing until the evening, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the performers before him, and he was looking forward to having his bonded with him in an environment he knew he thrived.

Plus, getting to see Geralt and Ciri dressed up and dancing and happy was something that made his very bones sing with happiness.

Puttering around the room, he hears Ciri get up once he starts to make a bit more noise with getting his clothes out and things for the bath so he knocks on her door. Effectively waking Geralt too.

“Sweet pea, let me know when the bath’s free.”

There’s a very sleepy “got it” from behind the door and he laughs.

“We don’t have to do anything until I open the ceremony this evening.” He starts talking to Geralt, even as Geralt pulls the cover back over his head and growls. “So I thought I could give you a tour of Oxenfurt hm?”

“The one time we have to sleep in and you don’t take it.” Geralt grouses, still not coming out from under the covers.

“You can sleep until i’ve finished my bath.” He wheedles, because they both knew how long he took in the bath, and he watches as Geralt nods his heads from under the covers. Unable to stop himself, he goes over to pat the lump under the covers and smiles when Geralt wiggles even further into a ball.

“Here.” Ciri opens the door with a grunt. “Baths’ yours.” Still in her sleep clothes and quilt around her shoulders, she unceremoniously pushes past Jaskier to shove Geralt over to the other side of the bed before climbing onto it. Both of them now just a bundle of blankets as they fall back asleep.

Smiling to himself, he goes into Ciri’s room, taking a second to heat up the bathwater from last night that Ciri hadn’t even used, using his breath to do so without thinking, and makes himself take longer in the bath than necessary. 

-

By the time he’s ready both witcher and child are up and dressed, lounging about dozing while they waited for him.

“Alright all set.” He claps his hands, laughing when they both jolt back to being awake, muttering to themselves.

“Coming.” Ciri staggers up, smiling thankfully when Jaskier steadies her. “Where are we going?” She’s blinking sleep out of her eyes, Geralt behind her doing the same as Jaskier leads them from the room.

“I thought i’de give you a tour of my old stomping grounds.”

“Please don’t tell me i’ll have to keep an eye out.” Geralt asks, hint of a growl in his voice and Jaskier laughs.

“No, not here.”

“Good. M’fuckin’ tired.”

“No this place is full of students. Really, people know what they’re getting into around here. Plus. I wasn’t that notorious yet.”

“I don’t believe that.” Geralt smirks, but then Ciri is tugging on his arm.

“Can we go to a bakery first? I'll die without breakfast.”

“Of course sweet pea. Come on. There’s a small lesser known one that does the best breakfast muffins!”

Leading them through the streets he knows so well is comforting in a way he can’t place. Tinged by nostalgia and the sounds of the town just waking up. The cobblestones are well worn under his feet, and he takes joy in pointing out various spots or places. The alley where he had first got beaten up. The hole in the wall almost-tavern where he had shared his first song. The park where he had spent most of one summer composing. It’s wonderful. Getting to share a piece of his history.

They do indeed stop at the bakery Jaskier was so fond of the now elderly owner recognises him, laughing about his lack of ageing and wagging a finger. Mentioning it where the university staff hadn’t.

“Could have sworn this one fucked one of the gods or something.” He laughs, leaning on the counter as he wraps up Ciri’s muffin. “Never seems to age, talent beyond anyone else, that sort of thing.” He’s joking, eyes kind so Jaskier let’s himself laugh.

“Well you never know good sir, I slept around so often I might just have!” Ciri giggles, laughing further when Geralt shuffles her out, although he nods in thanks when the owner waves away Jaskier’s payment.

“On the house godfucker.”

“You’re very kind.” Jakier winks, and sashays after his bonded, laughing brightly in the noonday sun. They could guess anything they wanted as long as it wasn't near his heritage. And he liked the title of ‘godfucker’ anyway, it had a nice ring to it.

“Another, to add to my legends.” He trills, leading them back to the main square, practically waltzing around the people in the slowly filling streets as they prepared for the influx of visitors for the festivities. Because even after the ball, people would still want drinks and foods to carry them into the early hours. And the town would be here to provide that.

“Jask.” Geralt groans, reeking of despair which only makes Jaskier chuckle, grabbing onto his arm and leading him to one of the tailors he knows to get Ciri another dress.

The tailor is new, but the work displayed is stunning and she takes a shine to Ciri, showing her some of the newer cuts in fashion that Ciri coo’s over and compliments her own dress which Ciri proudly shows off, dragging Geralt over to the conversation to explain how they made it on the road and the whittling of the boning.

Jaskier just watches proudly, throwing himself over one of the seats to wait until they’re done. Liking how Geralt was actually joining the conversation, if only for Ciri’s sake. He’s halting and gruff but trying and Jaskier loves him.

Taking an idle look around, the spike of want blooms in his chest. The want to buy another prettied up chemise for himself to keep and add to his hoard. But he stomps that down quickly. His hoard of blankets was enough. More than enough. The instinct to gather and collect was stupid at worst and harmful at best. No, he refused to give into it thank you very much. He was stronger than that.

So he tears his eyes away from the garment, letting his eyes close as he basks in the warmth of the shop, chattering of his bonded lulling him into a secure almost doze. 

Eventually they pick out a dress, thanking the woman profusely. Jessica, he thinks her name is. And she even gives them a discount.

“Ready to go?” He stands, cracking his back earning a grimace from Ciri and they nod.

“Yes! Oh it’s lovely Jaskier! And I have that ribbon I can tie in my hair to match, you know the one I found a few weeks ago and Yenn gave me some kohl for my eyes it’s gonna be brilliant!” She rambles as they leave the shop, waving the lady goodbye and head to get some lunch.

The town doesn’t welcome him home exactly. Although after being away for so long he’s unsurprised. Everything is still the same though. Which feels like a welcome in itself. The roads were the same, and the shops handed down families still bore the same names and occupations if not the same workers.

It was nice, knowing where he was going. Able to follow his nose and not be lost.

They find a pierogi stand, and Jaskier feels like he almost buys them out. Wanting the treat. And it’s definitely worth it as they spread out on the grass in the park, all of them tucking in to their lunch making appreciative noises as people filter past.

Occasionally he’ll see people he vaguely remembers and wave at them, and they always smile back. Almost all carry on their way though, holding things and getting prepared for later. A few stop though.

“Haven’t seen you forever Master Bard.” it’s a middle aged man that stops, one of his fellow students back in the day and he smiles at the tease.

“Well not all of us could stay here Henry. How’s the wife?” He remembers him and a girl getting wildly infatuated their first year, and had ended their education with a proposal. He thanks his dragon memory for being able to remember such small details. Especially seeing the guys face light up.

“Good!” He beams. “Just had our second child. Little boy.”

“Congrats.”

“Unsurprising you have one of your own.” Henry beams, gesturing to Ciri who grins, blushing a little but pointedly raising her eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, not surprising. This is Fiona.” Henry smiles at her.

“Good to meet you. And you are?” He turns to Geralt, apprehension clear on his face but he doesn’t back down.

“Geralt.” Geralt nods and Henry smiles even wider before smirking at Jaskier.

“Should have known he was the one you wrote ballads about Jask.” He chuckles, and goes to say something else although Jaskier is drawn to Geralt who growls at the nickname.

Oh. Interesting.

“Anyway.” Henry gets his attention. “I best be off. I’ll probably see you later!”

“Bye!” Jaskier waves at him until his back is turned and then turns to Geralt who’s sulking, smirking over at him.

“I heard that!” 

“Only I call you Jask.” He shrugs, but’s ruined by the sulky way he crosses his arms and Ciri giggles.

“What if I call him Jask?” She pokes him in the shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re bonded. He wasn’t.”

Jaskier snorts, standing and brushing off his clothes. “Come on then jealous arse. Let’s go back before somebody else says something.”

Geralt just growls again but he gets up. Herding Ciri up too as they follow Jaskier back to the university. Bags from the tailors back in hand.

-

It's not until Jaskier is readying for his performance a few hours later that Geralt presents him with a present. Ciri had begged off for a nap, and then to get ready herself. So it’s just him and Geralt in their room.

“What’s this?” He asks, taking the carefully wrapped parcel and he knows that if Geralt could blush he would be.

“It’s nothin’. I just, saw you looking.” He shrugs, hands twitching nervously and Jaskier can’t wait any longer so he opens the present. Laying aside the ribbon holding it together gently for Ciri. Or to tie in Geralt’s own hair. He unwraps the tissue paper slowly and can’t help but gasp when the present is revealed.

It’s the chemise he was looking at. Blue and lilac embroidery standing out starkly against the cream of the fabric. Long sleeves billowing and flowy. 

“Oh my love.” He breathes into the quiet, putting it aside carefully before throwing himself at the witcher. “I love it, I love you. My own. You’re so thoughtful!” He laughs when Geralt catches him, hoisting him up slightly before putting him down, arms cradling him. “This is the second one you’ve bought me. Buy me any more and i’ll assume you have a thing for them.”

“Shut up Jaskier.” He huffs, but then ruins it by nuzzling into his throat. “I like getting things for you.”

“Is this your version of courting?” He asks, laughing when Geralt makes an affronted noise.

“No, there's. Nothing like that. And anyway. Isn’t it too late for courting?” He bites at Jaskier’s jaw, moving down to lick at his throat, pushing aside his shirt with his nose to get to Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Never too late my dear. Never.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He hums, before Jaskier’s mind blanks as he sucks an impressive bruise into the join between his shoulder and neck, practically nibbling on the skin there.

When Geralt picks him up, he just wraps his legs around his waist, laughing brightly when Geralt throws him onto the bed.

“I should be practising.” He protests, although he just gets comfortable on the mattress. Not making a move to get his lute at all, or even to get up.

Geralt just hums, climbing over him, boxing him in with his arms before peppering kisses all over his face. Keeping it sweet and light so they’re not dealing with anything unfortunate when Ciri eventually bursts into the room.

“Hmm. You don’t like people calling me Jask huh?” He asks, when Geralt goes to make a mark on his other shoulder.

“No.” He grows, truthful in a way that gets Jaskier’s toes curling. “You’re my Jask. My bonded. My heart. My jask.”

Hearing him say ‘his bonded’ has Jaskier’s heart almost leaping from his chest and he growls, rolling them over to pin Geralt underneath him, his turn to kiss his own senseless.

“I love you I love you I love you.” He chants in between kisses.

“Love you.” Geralt replies, surging up and kissing back with everything he has. “Although you gotta stop if we wanna stay decent.” He sounds put out by it and Jaskier in his kiss addled state doesn’t understand until he shoves down a little, feeling Geralt’s semi. Ah.

“Fucking hell okay.” With a last kiss, he climbs off. Rolling off the bed and almost onto the floor until he steadies himself. Throwing the chemise he was wearing off, he replaces it with the new one. It went fetchingly with his doublet, the darker colours of the embroidery standing out with the light blue of his doublet and pants.

Looking over his shoulder he laughs when he catches staring, lounging back with his hand behind his head. Semi going nowhere.

“Better go and take care of that before the party my dear. Wouldn't want to be thrown out for indecency.”

Geralt just looks at him and rolls his eyes before huffing and standing. “Fine. But you know this is your fault.”

“Of course I do. I’ll let you back in once you’re done.”

“Urg.” Geralt huffs, leaving the room without even a kiss, but his sulking leaves Jaskier cackling. Finishing getting ready himself.

-

Geralt comes back just before they’re set to leave. Almost sheepish as he comes in. Jaskier and Ciri were playing gwent, and she was definitely winning.

“They asked me to help put things up.” He admits, and Jaskier beams as Ciri laughs delightedly before standing.

“Let’s go then! Celeste should be here already!” She whirls in her skirts. The dress being her new one. A deep red that goes with her hair, and Jaskier and Geralt can do nothing but follow her out. Jaskier has his lute slung over his back, ready to open the ceremony. He should feel nervous, he knows. But how could he, when his bonded were so excited.

Even Geralt was, in his own way.

They were safe and happy. It was going to be a good few days.

The large hall is already bustling. A small band playing light dance music on the dias that’s slightly raised in the center back. To one side there’s a banquet to be picked at, and at the other there are seats. The entire place is decorated beautifully. Silks hung from the tall ceiling, creating a cloud effect as small dancing lights drifted around the place. Casting everything in a soft glow. It was positively dreamy.

“Oh I can’t wait to dance.” He breathes to Geralt. Smiling widely as Ciri leaves them without a second glance, going over to her new friend who’s surrounded by her own friends. She’s greeted with a hug and introductions. And Jaskier know she'll be safe and happy over there with them. “And where are you going my love?” He asks Geralt who was following him through the throngs of people.

“Midpoint where I can see you both.” Geralt nods. Still looking intimidating in dark silks and cottons, as well as his bare bones armour. He doesn’t have his swords though. Although that does nothing to soften his look. Jaskier loves him.

“Well you know where i’ll be. I’ll keep an eye out for you my own.” He kisses Geralt’s shoulder as they reach the dias, letting Geralt situation himself by it as he goes towards the back where he can see the professors have their own seating arranged.

“Julian!” Professor Hawthorn greets. “Just in time!”

“Good. I am assuming you’re saying a few words?”

“Ah not me, but the headmaster. He will introduce you. Wait with me.”

He sits next to her, unable to do much else as the headmaster takes his cue to go onto the stage.

It was a different headmaster from when Jaskier was there. But he knew his face. Not too well, but enough to know he was a professor first. Jaskier thinks he may have been an art professor before being promoted.

“Ah esteemed guests.” He starts, as the music comes to a faded halt. “Thank you, for attending the three hundredth anniversary of Oxenfurt University.” There’s polite clapping. “Please do indulge yourself in the food and drink we have to offer, as we showcase the best of talent from our alumni. And our most esteemed alumni shall open for us. Julian Pankratz. Now going as Jaskier. Please if you will welcome us into this evening's festivities.”

They share a bow as Jaskier goes onto the stage. Lute already in hand and around his neck.

“Esteemed guests.” He mimics. “Thank you for attending. And thank you, for that warm welcome.” And it’s with that, that he starts playing the least dirty of his repertoire.

Of course he starts with the White Wolf ballads. He would be a fool not to.

Everyone is dancing by the time he takes a more courtly approach. And he watches as Ciri is convinced into a few dances. Although they’re mostly by Celeste. And with the way Ciri is blushing well, he might just have to tease her about it gently later. Crushes were always fair game to tease after all. Especially since she was his daughter! His daughter! The reminder gets him playing with gusto, a jig he knows she likes that has her dragging Celeste to the crowd to dance to and he delights with it. Eyes finding Geralt still by the dias. Back to him, but definitely aware as his head tilts to one side and then the next.

He plays with gusto until it’s the next guest's turn. And he’s so happy he barely wraps his set up, too quick to want to go and dance with his beloved.

“Geralt.” He’s laughing, almost high on the endorphins of a good set. And Geralt catches him by his arms, smiling with his eyes down at him.

“Yes?”

“Dance with me.” He pleads “Let me put my lute away and then dance with me.”

He expects a no. And he wouldn’t be sad about it. He knew Geralt wasn’t one for outright affection or dancing. Not really. So he’s surprised and even more elated when Geralt just chuckles and inlines his head.

“One dance.”

“You have my word my love!” He doesn't kiss him like he wants. Knowing that would push it too far. Still wanting to respect Geralt's boundaries. And turns on his heel, pushing through the crowd to get to his room quickly.

Suddenly though, there’s a face in front of him that he never thought he’d see again and he stops. Happiness draining out of him, leaving him empty and terrified.

“Marek.” Jaskier greets, blood running cold. “I didn’t ever expect to see you again.”

“Julian” He looks him up and down, eyes narrowing as he does so. Mouth twisted into a sneer. “We were invited. A new professor wanted nobles to attend and who would we be to pass up such an honour?” He visibly snarls then. “Although i’de refuse to attend if I had known that you were playing.”

“Jaskier?” Somehow, Geralt always knew when he was in distress. “Are you alright?” Position at the dias forgotten, he presses his hand to Jaskier’s arm, turning to the other dragon and scowling. Obvious that he’s the cause of Jaskier’s discomfort.

“Geralt.” Jaskier coughs on his words, almost stuttering. “This is my brother, Marek.”

Instantly, he tenses. Eyes going cold as his face falls. “Oh.”

“I see Julian spoke of me.” His disdain is obvious, although Jaskier watches as he rakes his eyes over Geralt, instincts wanting to put him in his hoard, take him from Jaskier.

“No. But I know a bastard when I see one.” Geralt is growling, low and threatening. All witcher training about dragons apparently gone. “Fuck off.”

“Is that any way to talk to an esteemed guest?” Marek places a hand over his heart mockingly. “I could have you thrown out for that.”

“I hold more sway here than you do Malek.” Jaskier hisses, hand going to cover Geralt’s with his own, keep him there. Keep him close.

“Hm. I wouldn’t be so sure.” When he smirks then it’s vicious, reeking of danger to come. “I’de watch your back Julian.” He looks them both up and down again. “I would hate to see what mother will do to you when she finds you.”

“She’s here?” His heart stops and Marek just grins.

“Of course. The whole family was invited. Now, I must go find them.” And then he’s swanning off without another word.

Once he’s gone, out of sight and swallowed into the crowd Jaskier deflates, clinging heavily onto Geralt so he doesn’t fall over.

“We have to go. Please. We have to go.” He’s babbling before he’s even aware he’s doing it, tugging him through the crowds to try and find Ciri.

“Jaskier wait-”

“They’re awful, we have to go.” His breathing is frantic, flashes of his mother's angry eyes behind his eyelids every time he blinks.

“Jask wait.” Suddenly he’s being pulled through the crowd by his arm and through a doorway into an empty corridor. Gently, because Geralt was always so gentle with him when he needed it, he pushes him back against the wall, hands on either side of his shoulders to box him in. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I refuse to see my mother again. Geralt. Fuck. She’s vicious. She’s the embodiment of everything that people hate about dragons and she loves it. And my brother and other siblings aren’t much better.”

“Are you unsafe? Will they hurt you?”

Jaskier tilts his head back, closing his eyes. “Not physically. Probably. I mean she has in the past. But this is a public place and they like keeping their reputation so none of them will now.”

“Okay.” Geralt sighs before humming. “Will you be allowed back in with good graces if you leave right now?”

Jaskier thinks, and he knows for a fact that the answer is a resounding no. Leaving now would be like spitting on Oxenfurt, completely disgracing it. “Ah fuck.”

“So, we keep you away from your family. You perform. And then as soon as this is over we leave.”

“How are we gonna keep them at bay?” Jaskier opens his eyes, staring into Geralt’s golden ones.

“I’ll do it. Hang around you. Be threatening. Maybe you should stay in your rooms in between performances though.”

“I. yeah. Okay.” He nods, hating the idea of being trapped but knowing it was better than the alternative. “Hey, at least they won't go after Ciri. At least she’s safe this time.”

“They won't?” Geralt tilts his head and Jaskier shakes his own back.

“No uh.” He swallows. “Young damsels aren’t their type. They want a challenge. And I know she isn’t a damsel.” He holds his hands up. “But she’s a young girl, so they’ll assume she is.” 

“We best tell her then to keep it that way. Come on.” Geralt pushes himself back, hands flexing before taking Jaskier’s arm in his own. “Let’s go find her and regroup.”

It doesn’t take long to find her, considering she had spent all of her time dancing with her new friends. As well as stalking the food table when she took smaller breaks. Making the most of the rich foods available and indulging. 

The indulgences looked good on her.

“Fiona.” Geralt gets her attention, motioning with his head to one of the doorways and it’s instant when she puts her plate down, following them back through the growing crowd and through corridors back to their rooms.

“What’s going on?” She asks before the door even closes.

“My family are here.” Jaskier says, rushed and hurried. His breathing had calmed down now that they somewhat had a plan. And knowing that Ciri and Geralt would be safe this time eases most of his anxiety. “You need to keep away from them. And basically just act like a teenage girl to avoid their attention.”

“But I am a teenage girl?” She raises an eyebrow. “Also your family? The ones who kicked you out? Do we need to kill them?”

She asks so honestly, and Jaskier knows she would do it if he let her. He chuckles despite himself.

“No, to the killing. And by teenage girl I mean a stereotypical not at all accurate representation of what people think teenage girls are like. Giggly, flighty, can’t fight. That sort of thing. They don’t go after damsels, so it’s best if you act like one.”

“So?” She tilts her head. “Just, what? Act all shy and meek in a corner?”

“If someone asks you to dance then go ahead but.” He throws his hands around looking for the words. “Just, act the way you see the other girls act that sort of thing. If you can make friends with them and enter into their little group all the better.”

“Oh, well I already get along with Celeste. And she’s part of that group! And they seem nice enough already” She perks up then. “So basically I just have to act in a way people consider normal.”

“Yes. Act like you’re not travelling with a witcher and a dragon.”

“Got it.” She nods. “This is going to be so easy you have no idea. Geralt, are you okay?”

Jaskier turns to where Geralt had been silent. Which wasn’t unusual, but when he looks Jaskier notices how hard his hands are clenched.

“Ciri has the right idea, are you sure we can’t kill them?”

“And make you go back on your training? No.” Jaskier is quick to stop that line of thought. Because really, no matter how badly they had treated him he wouldn’t wish death upon them. Even if they wished it upon him.

“Hm.”

“Look, I don’t want them dead. I just want to get away from them as soon as we can and never see them. Big difference.”

“I mean, them dying is a great way for you to never see them again.” Ciri offers and then suddenly Geralt is nodding along seriously and shit.

“Neither of you are killing my family.” He puts his foot down, tone just strong enough to get them to stop from where they looked like they were going to start planning. “I just want these next two days over with and then we can leave okay?”

“But they hurt you.” Geralt turns, his eyes intense with a frown that Ciri mimics.

“I know, but you’d do more harm than good hurting them come on. You both know it.”

“It’s worth it if they hurt you.” Geralt says, but his shoulders slump. “But fine.”

“We won’t kill your family.” Ciri sounds just as disappointed as Geralt and Jaskier can’t help but sweep them both into a hug.

“I appreciate it, I really do. But I would also like to be welcomed back here.”

“Are you really sure?” Ciri asks, looking up with puppy dog eyes and he laughs, pushing them both away gently.

“Very sure. Now you, off you go. Make some friends.”

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “Are you both staying here?”

“Jaskier is. I’m coming with you.”

“Geralt-” He hates how he protests at Geralt leaving.

“You agreed didn’t you?” Jaskier scowls at Geralt’s smirk. Although there's no heat behind either expression.

“Go then, the pair of you. But expect a scathing sonnet about the pair of you when you get back.”

“Looking forward to it.” Ciri giggles, waggling her fingers before swanning past him and Geralt kisses his forehead before leaving, shutting the door tightly before muttering a gruff-

“Lock it.” And following Ciri back into the fray.

Jaskier does, staying at the door to feel where they go, heart tugging at him to follow, but he stays in the room.

He knows Geralt went with Ciri to keep her safe. And if he had tried to stay, Jaskier would have shoved him out. But still, it suddenly hurts being on his own, trapped in a room much like he had been when he still lived at home.

Really, he didn’t understand why he was putting so much importance in staying at Oxenfurt. Did he really think so highly of their opinion? And when he thinks about it, going over to sit on the bed he finds that, yes he does.

They had given him safety and shelter when he had needed it, given him his education and his attitude. Shaped him to be something that wasn’t just based on him being a dragon. They gave him a craft to hone, something to focus on. He owed them an awful lot. So losing this place, one of the places he felt safe, would break him.

He doesn’t feel safe now though and he grimaces. Because really, what were they doing here? He could try and explain, but explaining would mean actually revealing himself because nobody actually thought his family were dangerous. And if he revealed their heritage then his family really would kill him. And if he gave some flowery excuse about simply disliking his family, well that wouldn’t do. Nobody spoke about their own family that way and he would simply be dismissed and never invited back to Oxenfurt again for his awfulness.

No, he had to just grin and bear it. They only had two more evenings to go. He could do this. All he had to do was stay in their room in between performances.

To distract himself, he starts making the nest he had thought about the night before. So, he drags the double mattress onto the floor, moving the bedside table out the way so it’s able to fit and it hits the stone floor with a satisfying thud.

The fire is on the other side of the room, and without thinking, he kneels down beside it to light it with his breath. The familiar warmth that floods his throat with the flames soothes him in a way he didn’t realise he needed, as does the smoke that filters out of his nose. It’s not enough of a smell to permeate the door so he lets it linger in the room, feeling as though it’s blanketing him as he goes back to work pulling out all of their blankets from their packs as well as the chest by the bed to cover the mattress on the floor.

It’s not home, and he doesn’t even really feel safe. But with the smell of his fire, the heat of the fire now in the hearth and the comfort of his nest, he’s able to at least pick up his lute and sit in the coziness. Not composing, brain too addled for that, but he plays. All the softer melodies that filter into his head to calm him down end up being played on his lute, and he ends up sprawled on his back, eyes closed as he feels the music, although he’s unable to get out of his head completely.

Fuck.

Every now and then he stops, listening for footsteps outside of his door or he sniffs, trying to scent out his family.

He never hears or smells anything, but his paranoia that they’ll come to find him keeps him from getting invested in something or sleeping. His anxiety was through the roof, and he’s very tempted just to leave. Never return to Oxenfurt again. 

-

Just when he’s about to start packing up, there’s a knock at the door. “Jask. Let us in.”

Scrambling up, he unlocks the door and lets Geralt and Ciri back in, throwing himself at the pair of them when the door is once again locked and holds them as tight as he dares.

“You okay?” Ciri asks, and he nods against Geralt’s chest.

“Yeah just. Gimme a minute. Before I have to go back out there.” Ciri hugs him around the waist hard, and Geralt holds them both tightly, fingers digging into Jaskier’s shoulder just hard enough to ground him but not hurt.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. “I’m good. I can go and play.”

“You sure?” Geralt asks and Jaskier nods.

“Yes just, you keep close to me. Ciri, act normal.”

“We can do that.” Ciri nods, and holds on a little longer than Geralt, letting him hug her back maybe a little too hard. “Come on, you can see the dance Celeste taught me!”

“Lead the way then sweet pea.” 

He locks the door again, knowing how his family were about snooping and stealing his stuff. And follows his bonded into the crowd of students and attendees.

Geralt leads him straight to the raised dais that served as a stage, Ciri having broken off to go and see her friends before they had even gotten into the large hall properly.

“She’s been doing good.” Geralt whispers to him, hand on the small of his back to lead him through the crowd.

“Good.”

“I’ll be here. Go, play.” Geralt places a quick kiss to the side of his head before ushering him to the small troupe that were gathering and setting up, and Jaskier’s relieved to see that Professor Hawthorn is overseeing still, her own flute in hand.

“Professor, can I have a word after this?” He asks when he gets to her, covering up his question by tuning his lute and she nods.

“Of course.” Somebody walks a little close and she covers easily. “Did you get the setlist? You know what we’re playing, yes?”

“Of Course! I even memorised it!”

“Ah, how we wish you did that with your studies.” She looks him over once, raising a concerned eyebrow and he nods. She nods back. “Now do you need any rosin?”

“Ah no thank you, oh. We’re up.”

He follows the troupe onto the stage, giving a perfunctory bow and hand wave as the crowd clap, although his eyes are scanning them to find his family.

And he does. Almost instantly. Mainly because they’re at the back of the room, reclining on the seats lining the walls. And they all smirk when they see him on stage. His brother wasn’t lying. He sits there next to their mother, his sister and younger brother at her other side. Their father was nowhere to be seen, and Jaskier’s heart breaks. Because that must mean he’s gone. They travelled as a unit, and if he weren’t there, something must have happened.

He stumbles with that knowledge, watching as his mother flicks her tongue out, forked because she knows nobody will see, a show of dominance and arrogance that he hates.

Hating how his heart hurts, he covers, smile pasted on his face as he introduces the troupe with a wave of his hand and starts playing. While he plays, he keeps his eyes on Geralt. Less so Ciri, knowing Geralt would have his eyes on her, and Jaskier didn’t want to draw attention to her. Because while his family didn’t care for people who weren’t a challenge. If he showed too much affection for her they would take her just to spite him.

So he plays with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, throwing himself into the performance. His own version of spite towards his family. Showing them how well he was doing, how well he could perform.

Glancing over, he catches Ciri and Celeste dancing, more refined than a jig but definitely something of their own creation, hands clasped and laughing and smiles even further, drawing his eyes to Geralt who’s still glaring around the room. That only makes him smile harder though, almost laughing and messing up the lyrics.

Fuck his family. He was doing what he loved with his new and better family within reach. His new bonded. His new life. They couldn’t take that away from him. He’d die first before they took that from him.

“Quell your daughter's hunger.” He finished the song, hands outstretched to the applause he gets before starting on the next song, one eye always on his family.

It’s one of his more stressful performances but he gets through it. And with a last round of applause he is off the stage and being hustled into a courtyard off the hall area by Professor Hawthorn. Both still clutching their instruments. Jaskier knows Geralt won’t worry, will wait for him and keep an eye on Ciri. And that’s what matters.

“So what’s happened?” Hawthorn asks, getting straight to it and Jaskier deflates.

“My family are here. I need to know who invited them.”

“Shit.” She hisses, and Jaskier can’t help but smile at that. She was his favourite professor for a reason. She knew about them mostly. Knew they were cruel and had kicked him out. And he knows that she and a few of the other professors who cared for him had been the ones keeping them away while he had been there. Or atleast made a point not to have any events where they would be invited. Forgot to invite them for any conferences that sort of thing.

“Apparently it was a new professor.” He offers and she curses again.

“Fuckin’ bastard. It’ll be Jamison.” she’s scowling. “He’s an absolute bastard. The board were wanting to fire him anyway, this is just the nail in the coffin.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a shit teacher. I can spin something, get him kicked out it’ll be fine.”

“You won’t be in danger though-”

“Julian.” She stops him from panicking with a hand on his arm. “I have been at this college longer than you have, I am very safe don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” He trusted her. “Now to get through the next two days.”

“It’ll be fine.” She reassures. “You can dine in your room and such. All you have to do is perform.”

“Okay. Thank you.” He nods as she does, sharing a smile.

“Now go back to your witcher. Have him escort you back to your room. I’ll keep an eye on your daughter.”

He chokes up at that and she laughs at him, although not unkindly. “Go.”

“Thank you.” He leads them back into the hall, finding Geralt waiting for him like he expected.

“They’ve gone.” He announces, nodding to Professor Hawthorn as she slips past them, smiling kindly before going to take her seat on the dias again with the other professors.

“And Fiona?” He asks and Geralt motions with his head to where Ciri was still dancing with her friends. Unaware of anything else but dancing and having a good time.

“Good.” Another troupe was already playing, something a little more raucous than he had been as the night had grown later.

“Dance with me.” Geralt asks, before Jaskier starts to head back to their room and he stops.

“What?”

“You came here to dance, and I refuse to let your family deprive you of that.” His heart swells with love, but shakes his head.

No matter how much he wanted that, wanted to dance with Geralt and forget what was happening. His thoughts wouldn’t let him.

“I can’t. I need to go back to the rooms. Keep you both safer by doing that.”

“Jask.” Jaskier hates the sadness in Geralt’s eyes at that and shrugs.

“I’ll be fine my love. They won’t do anything right now.”

“Are you sure?” Geralt lowers his head and Jaskier nods.

“I am. Now go, linger by Fiona and scare off her friends.”

“Shut up.” Geralt chuckles, letting him go and Jaskier goes with a kiss to his cheek, making his way back to their rooms.

He only gets half way there before he’s accosted.


	2. Chapter 2

“My son. Where have you been all these years?” His mother greets and he freezes.

“Not yours.” He growls on instinct, turning to see his mother between him and the hallway back to the main hall. He’s very glad he had severed their bond all those years ago as he doesn’t wilt under her gaze like he would if it were still there, return to her like a kicked dog with his tail between his legs.

“Oh you poor wayward soul.” She sounds as vicious as she does pitying. Coming up to him and crowding him threateningly against the wall, heels making her taller and more imposing. Her hands go to the places they used to, one on his jaw, the other on his shoulder, fingers turned to claws so they pierce his skin lightly. The sting a well known warning.

“You really thought you could sever the bond and run from me?”

Jaskier doesn't answer, just wriggles in her grip, trying his best to get away and regretting it when she knees him in the groin.

Her fury is evident. And he knows it’s not because she lost him as a son. He knows that it’s because he was part of her hoard, thought that she owned him like a piece of meat and her anger comes from losing that. Losing her ownership of him. She’s using their past bond as a guilt trip, trying to make him feel bad. And he refuses to.

“How dare you run from your brother.” She continues. “Do you think having a witcher to protect you will do anything? Have you forgotten the power I hold?” She blows smoke in his face to reiterate her point, smirking when he coughs and tries to turn away.

Terror runs through his veins, and his brain goes to its baseline of panic. She was everything he hated about being a dragon. Her eyes are glinting emerald, almost fully turning into how they look when transformed. And he can smell the fury and possessiveness radiating off her in waves. How much she thinks she owns him, how horrified she is that he would run off, when he was hers.

She was wrong.

“Father's dead then yes?” He asks, wincing as he speaks with the claws that are pushed deeper into his skin.

“Yes.” Her eyes darken, and he feels his shoulder wet with blood as her grip gets even harder. Claws sinking deeper. “You would have known if you had been there. Mourned properly with your family.”

“You’re not my family.” He spits. Smelling the smoke on her breath that means she’s pissed beyond belief. 

“You are my son. My blood. You cannot get away from that child.” She hisses, claws getting even deeper and he chokes.

“You lost your son the day you sent me away.”

“Fuck you!” She lashes out, scratching across his face with claws still wet with blood from his shoulder and he bites back a howl at the pain across his face, her claws narrowly missing his eye in a practised move.

“How dare you defy me.” She continues. “You are mine, and you belong to me. You had no right leaving.”

“Nobody belongs to anyone.” He says through clenched teeth, face smarting as he feels the blood start to run.

“You. Belong. To me.” She hisses again, hand back to his shoulder to keep him in place. Shooting pain down his spine with her grip.

He didn’t think she’d do this here. Where people were only a few rooms away. He hadn’t expected her to be like this. Cruel in her words yes, but he hadn’t thought she’d be so reckless as to physically hurt him.

Not like this.

“Where are the rest of them then? If they belong to you?” He sneers, choking when the grip on his jaw gets harder. Even more painful as inevitable bruises join the puncture marks.

“Waiting for me to go home.” She smirks. “Waiting for me to bring you with me. You need to come back home Julian. Join your family again.”

His blood runs cold and his breathing stops.

“No, no you’re not dragging me back. No-”

“Julian, come now brother.” His sister seems to materialise out of nowhere and he curses himself for not smelling or sensing her.

“Vivienne.” He snarls as she grabs onto his arm. Claws out too. The successor their mother had groomed her to be.

He would shift and flee if it didn’t mean putting Geralt and Ciri in danger. So he lets himself be dragged. Hoping against hope that they’re still safe.

It’s as if his mother can read his thoughts. “If you come without a fight Julian. Your little witcher and his daughter will stay unharmed.”

Limply, then he falls into their grasp and complies. They were safe. He needed to keep them safe.

“There’s a good boy.” His mother coos and he swallows down bile at the sarcastic praise.

Dragging his feet, he tries to leave a blood trail or at least a scent trail as he’s taken through the once safe walls of Oxenfurt and out of a back door and into the night.

“Why now?” He asks. “You left me alone for fucking decades.” They have a cart, with his brother sitting atop it ready to drive the horses.

“Oh Julian.” His mother practically purrs, eyes fully shifted now as she rakes her claws down his doublet to tear it and then skin. “You came to us. How could we refuse an invitation to have you back when you presented yourself.”

“Fuck you I didn’t.” He snarls, but doesn’t fight back. The most important thing was keeping Geralt and Ciri safe. And that meant going along with his family.

He just hoped Geralt would realise what happened. Would know that he didn’t leave willingly. Would know that Jaskier would eventually be back when he escaped again. When it was safer for them. 

Because he couldn’t be away from them now. And he knows that his family refused to travel far. Had only found him now because he got too close. They wouldn’t follow him across the continent. He wasn’t worth that much trouble. No, they had seen this as an easy opportunity to get him back, to torture him some more. But he wasn’t worth too much effort. 

Letting himself get pushed into the carriage he cries out in pain as his sister twists his arm, making up all the time she had missed, and hopes that he can hold out until they leave him alone somewhere so he can escape.

Thinking of this, he’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice his sister hauling something heavy in her hands and then feels a sharp pain on the back of head with the force of it before he blacks out.

-

They travel for days. Stopping only to eat and rest. Although his brothers take it in turns to drive so they’re moving most of the time.

He stays on the floor of the carriage. Under the watchful eye of his family, as somebody is always awake to keep an eye on him. At some point early on, his hands are tied behind his back, with a rope he can break out of easily but doesn’t. Knowing he’ll have to rely on the fact that they underestimate him.

He was unable to shift in front of them back when he lived with them. Never possessed the typical dragon strength. And they only knew his scale colour due to them showing under his skin. He had only been able to shift after his third decade. A late bloomer, Borch had fondly called him.

That was working to his advantage now though. Because his family didn't know he possessed normal dragon strength or the ability to partially shift or even fully shift. If he wanted he could break the rope easily, or even cut it with his claws. But he wouldn’t. He needed to keep that element of surprise to himself.

“Here.” His mother had snipped on the second day, holding a wineskin to his face that he had eagerly drank from. It was water, and it wasn’t tainted. But she pulls it away before he has his fill. Shoving a small slice of bread into his mouth.

“Should just let him starve.” Vivienne whines, eating sweets daintily from a wrapped parcel.

“Hush.” His mother just chides. “We don’t want him dying before we get home my darling.”

“Hm. Whatever you say mother.”

They only let him out of the carriage to relieve himself, although Marek watches over him with a disgusted eye and makes a point of shoving him to the ground before shoving him back in the carriage.

It’s a tense few days, and Jaskier just hopes he can wait and bide his time long enough to escape. Unable to do it while they’re on the road until his shoulder heals a little.

He also holds out hope that Geralt will follow him, and will know where he is. But be smart about things and not just run in blindly. Hopefully just wait for Jaskier to return. Or go to Kaer Morhen and wait for him there. Would know and trust that Jaskier would return to him. Would be fine.

The thought of his true family and returning to them is the only thought keeping him going as the days pass, and they travel closer and closer to the prison he had once called home.

-

On the last day of travel, he stays on the floor of the carriage in silence until they cross the familiar gates of his old home that instantly fill him with dread. Or, more dread than he was already feeling. His heart was heavy and aching from being so far away from his true bonded. And the rest of him just hurt. His face was stinging, underneath his jaw more so and his shoulder was in agony.

“Finally home Julian.” His younger brother simpers, Marek having driven the last day and Jaskier spits at him.

“Fuck off Lucian.” It earns him a slap that his mother praises his brother for with a touch to his arm. And Jaskier almost gags at how Lucian preens under the praising touch.

When they stop, he’s once again unceremoniously dragged out of the carriage. And although he isn’t surprised, the horror mounts as he’s dragged through the stately home and thrown back into his old room.

It looks exactly like it used to except for the heavy bars on the windows and the equally as heavy lock on the door that the weak light from the moon filtering in illuminates.

Fuck.

“You stay in there until you can behave my son.” His mother snarls through the door. And with his good hand he bangs on the door once, getting another snarl before he hears her walking off down the polished hallway and down the stairs.

It’s dark and definitely freezing in the room despite the season and he shivers, hands scrabbling in the dark to the candle he knows is on his bedside. Once the holder of it is in hand, he lights it with his breath, warmth from that making his wounds hurt worse as the warm light slowly fills the room.

Looking down at himself, he grimaces at the blood coating his doublet. He knows the wound on his shoulder is bad and he might have to reset it from where it had been wrenched about. But the wounds on his face and jaw must be worse than he thought.

Tentatively, he runs his hands over his jaw and under his chin, hissing as he catches on the deep incisions there as well as the surprisingly deep cuts on his face. None of this would scar, his mother knew how to avoid that so as not to cause suspicion. But that didn’t make him hurt any less.

Taking his doublet and chemise off, both with whispered curse words at the pull and pain, he looks as best he can at his ruined shoulder and knows that the puncture wounds there are definitely going to scar. They’re too deep not to, even with his dragon healing.

Thankfully, he won't need to set it. Although it takes a while of him shifting it and rolling it in it’s socket to make it feel aligned properly again. And the movement only opens the wounds further which hurts even more.

Casting aside his ruined fabric, he shivers in the cold but steels himself as he looks around the room. The bars on the window were solid. But with his extra strength he may be able to bend them apart and shimmy through the window. They were still underestimating his strength. And that seems like the only viable option too when he checks the lock on the door. It pulses lightly with magic that he reels back from once he feels it and resigns himself to the window option, not wanting to deal with any curse that the lock would set on him if he tried to pick it.

Everything else though looks creepily the same. The art on the walls, and even the things in his drawers. The starting of his first hoard, just some once shiny marbles and a few dried up leaves in stunning orange colours in the bottom of one of his drawers. Nothing like the vaults that he knew lay under the family home full of gold and jewels and the bones of people that defied his family or had once been in their service. People his family wanted to have as trophies.

He shudders at the reminder, almost sick at the thought. Trying his best to push it out of his mind, he grabs his ruined shirts and cleans off as much of the blood as he can as he goes over to his old dresser. Trying to find even a loose top. Something to cover him while he escaped.

Finding nothing that would fit given that they had sent him to Oxenfurt so young, he resigns himself to traveling in both a cold and hurt state. Plotting his course of action as he tried his best not to think about what had happened.

-

_“You’re going to Oxenfurt for a year.” His mother was at the head of the table, hand in his father's own as they ate. “Then coming back here to train as our heir properly. The year away will show you how useless you are without us.”_

_“Mother-” He had been so angry but so desperately upset. He hated them. Hated the fact that they killed people for what they wanted. Hated the blood soaked jewels and coin under the floorboards. But to be sent away by his family? His bonded? That hurts too. Just as much._

_Because he knew how much they hated him. Knew how much they wanted him to change, to be more like them. He had the scars under his chin and and the rest of his body to prove it. His mother and father lash out whenever he protested what they did. Leaving ribbons of blood in their claws wake as they scratched him, cut him. For speaking out of turn, questioning them._

_Even at a young age he had known that what they were doing was wrong. Knew that the fear on their staffs face wasn’t right. The heritage his family spoke of wasn’t anything more than the itch of scales under his skin. It meant nothing and excused nothing._

_Nobody deserved to be treated in the way they treated people. Being dragons didn’t make them better than anybody else. Didn’t entitle them to anything. He was revolted by the feelings he felt, the possessive nature his mother said was natural but made him feel sick._

_But still, they were his bonded. His family. And they were sending him away._

_“Why-”_

_“You’re too headstrong Julian.” His father. “Too disobedient. Too annoying and too much of a nuisance. You need a year to understand that without us, you are nothing. And should not be taking us for granted and acting out like you have been.”_

_That night. He had known he would not be returning to them. No matter how badly his heart was breaking. It had been years of bad treatment, years of seeing how badly they hurt people, hurt him. No. He would not be returning to them. Even though it hurt his heart to break the bond._

_Really with even just wanting to send him away. They had already broken it._

-

He wakes up in a cold sweat, having passed out on the bed. Shaking, the pain had woken him up. It was light out, the first warmth of dawn bathing the room, and it doesn't even take him a second to remember where he is. What had happened.

Really, he’s surprised that he hasn’t started to cry. All he feels is a hollow ache in his chest that rivals the pain of his injuries. Especially now knowing he would have to wait until the night to escape.

“Oh brother.” It’s Marek, practically singing as he unlocked his door. “Don’t we have a day planned for you.” He comes into the room rope in hand, and using Jaskier’s surprise doesn't waste any time with tying his hands behind his back, aggravating his shoulder further. Ropes tight enough that they dig into his skin. “Fucking sorry excuse for a dragon. Can’t even get out of rope. Don’t even have claws do you?”

He laughs as he’s taunting him, and Jaskier just shakes, hanging his head as if ashamed. Trying his best to keep a level head and play into the act of the child they all thought he was was. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he hoped that Marek thought the shaking was from him trying to hold back tears rather than pure anger.

Thankfully, he was still scared. And he knows that that’s the scent they’ll focus on, practically get drunk from it. And he plays into that as he’s dragged from his room and down the stairs and into the cellar.

His fear then spikes again and overtakes him, because this was where they used to put him when he had been too disobedient and wanted to punish him, using the isolation and darkness to fuel his fear.

It’s lit though when he’s dragged down there and thrown against the back wall before Marek ties him there. “Mother will be down after breakfast.” He hisses, grinning when Jaskier writhes in pain.

“Fuck you.” He manages to hiss, and takes the kick to his gut, hissing when Marek pulls his hair back.

“I told her not to bring you back here. To let you rot. All alone out in the world. But no, she brings you back.” He snarls, kicking Jaskier again. “You left, and you don’t deserve to return. Turning on us like that. You always were a bastard. You’re not even a proper dragon. Fucking mistake, that’s what you are.”

A kick to his sternum has him doubling over, coughing harshly as everything hurts.

“You could never turn. Bet you fucking can’t now. You’re a disgrace to dragons everywhere. Don’t deserve to live.”

“Enough Marek. You can have your fun later.”

Jaskier doesn't think his fear could get any worse as he realises his situation. Trapped in a dark room with only one exit with his mother.

He just had to hold out. She wouldn’t kill him. He just had to hold out until she left or he was thrown into his room and then he could leave. Had to leave.

“He is right though.” He looks up to where his mother is standing over him, and she grabs his hair to hold his head up. “You are a disgrace to dragons everywhere. Do tell me Julian. Did you ever manage to shift? Or could you never pass the stage of just blowing smoke out of your nose?”

He spits blood at her feet, hoping she takes that for the lie it is.

He’s surprised when she does. “Ohh so angry.” She coos like he’s a child again, nails pointed but not claws tracing down his jaw. “You never could shift like us. Not properly anyway. The scales under your skin never came through properly hmm? Pity.”

Dropping his head he watches her surveying him. Trying his best just to feel angry and scared, not let on how wrong she was.

“You could have been glorious my child. My son, the failed dragon. Maybe I should be glad you left. Broke the bond. A dragon who can’t shift properly should not be a dragon at all.” She’s looking at him like he’s prey. “And I would let you go. Let you run away and not darken our doors any further. But you need to be taught a lesson my child. None of my things leave me.”

“I’m. Not. Yours.” He grits out, scowling at her laughter.

“When will you learn Julian that you always have been, and always will be mine. Now. where we start with teaching bad things a lesson hmm?” 

Eye widening, he watches as she pulls a small thin rod from the pocket of her dress, iron at the end flattened into the shape of her initial and he balks, knowing what was coming from witnessing it as a child on 'misbehaving' servants.

“No, no no no-”

“Oh yes. You need a reminder on who you belong to. Don’t you Julian.” She blows fire onto it, with a sense of control he would never have, waiting until the iron was burning hot and promptly plunges it into the skin of his unhurt shoulder.

He howls in pain, almost breaking the rope. But he knows he’d be in more trouble if he did. If he revealed his actual strength.

“This hurts me a lot more than it hurt you.” She simpers. “Having to hurt one of my things. My son. I wouldn’t do this if you didn’t deserve it.”

He knows that that’s a load of horse shit. She enjoyed hurting things for fun. Because she could. And that seems to make the hurt even worse.

Smelling his own skin burning makes him choke on blood and vomit as she removes the brand, inspecting her handiwork. “Hm, that will do nicely.” She nods, scratching down it harshly again with her claws for good measure, getting him to howl again, trying desperately to move out of her reach, tears clouding his eyes.

“Now we’re going to leave you here to think about what you’ve done hmm.”

His resolve breaks.

Maybe it had been years of living with a witcher, having to protect him and stick up for him. Keep him safe, save his reputation. And then keep Ciri safe. But he was quicker to jump now, quicker to solve problems with his fists. Especially when it came to people insulting Geralt.

Maybe it’s the thought that if his mother continues, he will never return to his bonded again, will be left in the cellar on his own forever.

He uses that built up resolve now. Easily snapping the rope that tied him, hands aching as they’re freed as he roars fire into his mothers face.

In shock she reels back, giving him enough space to escape.

Hating it, hating her pained and furious shriek, he pushes past her as fast as he can, years of dodging monsters on hunts helping his cause now as he heads for the stairs and the open door, as fast as he can.

It’s a miracle he gets to the door, slamming it closed as hard as he can behind him as he relies on his memory to push through the halls and out of the main door, barreling through the wood with his shoulder when it doesn’t unlock, cracking the lock in the wood before it’s splinters open and he’s out into the grounds.

Shifting hurts, it hurts so badly he screams, sound mingling with the outrage he can hear behind him. The shouts from his mother, smelling of burnt flesh just like he is and the rest of his family, filtering out of the building as they scream and shout at him.

But then he’s up and flying, as high as he can go, shoulder screaming at him to stop, but he pushes through, flying as fast as he can, as far as he can, practically roaring from the pain. Uncaring now if anybody saw him.

All he cared about was getting away. Getting to safety. He heads away from Oxenfurt, away from any towns and towards the mountains he sees in the distance. He’s shaky at best, and knows he won't be able to fly for very long with how much pain he’s in.

But he knows his family won’t follow him, knows they won't risk people finding out about them and shift. Wanting to keep their reputation and their heads. They could explain his appearance away. Maybe get some fame for chasing off a dragon. But their reputation was far more important to them than he was.

He was just going to be a trophy anyway. And what was one trophy in a room of thousands? No. They wouldn’t follow him.

That doesn't stop him from pushing himself to get as far away as he can though as quickly as he can. And although he wobbles, wings straining and head light as he’s flying so high, he continues.

Flying over fields and small villages, he hopes against all hope that nobody sees him. Will think he’s just a bird in the distance. And he can’t hear anything as he flies. Just the rush of wind past his ear and on his wings. No shouting, now mobs forming. But he doesn't relax. Not for a second

It’s his panic that keeps him flying, terror fuelling him one even though exhaustion catches up to him quickly. Safety was in the clouds, in the air. And he wanted to stay safe for as long as he could.

He flies until the sun is high above him. Brain numb to anything but the pain and tiredness in his bones. And he eventually crashes more than lands in a deserted valley. One surrounded by trees and reeking of nothing but wildlife.

No magic. No family. No nothing.

Crashing through the tree line hurts, and it hurts even worse when he shifts back to his human form, crying out in agony as he finally cries properly. Trauma and pain catching up with him. His shoulder was mangled once again, flying having taken its toll on it. And the brand mark burns him to his very soul.

He cries for his pain, for Geralt and Ciri. Cries out for relief, for anything. Screams in agony. Knowing nobody was around for miles to hear him.

In a fit of anger, tears clouding his eyes, he stumbles up, listening for the sound of water and eventually finding it.

Stumbling over every tree root and rock, it takes him almost an hour to find the small stream. But it’s enough for what he wants.

Crying still, unable to stop as flashes of what’s happened flit through his eyes. He looks down at his branding. Seeing the initials there, he shakes himself, and bracing himself on a tree by the water, he blows a steady stream of fire over the brand, stopping to shriek in pain at the burn of his flesh before plunging himself into the cold of the stream.

It had to be done though, although he vomits off to the side when he breaches the waters surface to come up for air, shouldering a mass now of charred skin.

But the brand was gone. His own flames having burnt deeper than the iron had.

Everywhere is in pain. Both shoulders now, the burnt one, burns running almost down his chest too, the skin on the top of his shoulder cracking and flaking off in gross chunks. The other pulled and pierced. Both now would be scarred.

Better to be scarred than trapped in that cellar though.

The thought sends him vomiting again. Scream a primal, savage thing torn from his throat as grief washes through him.

“GERALT!” He shouts, into the canopy above him. Unable to shout for anything else. Wanting nothing else. “GERALT!”

He stays in the cold water, the cold slowly shocking him back into reality as the pain takes him over in waves.

“Geralt.” He cries. Name of his beloved the only thing on his tongue as he wails.

The water around him, once clear and clean, is now a muddied ruin of old blood and ash. Gore tainting the water in a way that fills him with guilt. “Geralt.” He’s whimpering now. Shaking violently as he pulls himself from the water. Traumatised and in so much pain it almost pulls him under.

He calls out for Geralt again, collapsing into the mud. Barely, he makes it away from the bank, propping himself up against the same tree he had done before and leans there. Panting and trying desperately to catch his breath and the pain washes over him in waves that only grow stronger and stronger.

Eventually, he blacks out.

-

Waking up hurts. And he’s not sure he wants to face whatever waits for him when he opens his eyes.

That is until he registered the hand desperately clutching onto his own, hears the slow and heavy breathing that he knew so well was his witcher in sleep.

Cracking open an eye, he finds that he’s on a bed in a dimly lit room, and holding onto his hand is Geralt. He’s fast asleep, sitting in a chair that doesn’t look comfortable and Jaskier collapses under the weight of his relief.

“Geralt.” He croaks. “My own.”

Instantly, golden eyes snap open to find his and Jaskier smiles weakly when their gazes meet. “Jask. Jaskier fuck.”

He’s so happy and relieved he feels delirious, although that might be the concoction of potions he feels swirling in his system. That doesn't matter though as Geralt leans over him, covering his face in gentle yet frantic kisses.

Jaskier jerks away though on instinct when his hands go to hold his face and he cringes when Geralt pulls back, pain evident in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” He tries, throat raw. “My mother-” and then he’s being shushed, hands gently on his chest instead before Geralt is fumbling for something and a glass of water is lifted to his lips and he drinks from it greedily.

Once he’s had his fill, he makes to sit up and Geralt helps him, propping the pillows behind him and settling Jaskier back against them properly, pulling the cover up to his middle from where it had fallen and tucking it in.

Reaching out a hand, he traces it against Geralt’s own, holding it as tightly as he can. Feeling Geralt’s slow and steady pulse in his palm.

“How did you find me? I didn’t even know where I was.” He tilts his head back, watching as Geralt’s eyes roam over him as if to make sure he was really there, and with a wince he shifts, making as much room as he could.

Tapping the bed expectantly, he feels better as Geralt gets up, gingerly sitting beside him on the bed. And they both feel some of the tension leave as Jaskier rests his head on Geralt’s shoulder, linking their hands together again.

He’s surprised to find that only his burnt shoulder hurt. The other one, the one that he’s leaning on Geralt, seems fine. The same with his face, it no longer stings. Although underneath his jaw hurts a little. He’s still exhausted, and he lets his eyes slip closed as he leans again Geralt. Focusing on his breathing. Not too sure this wasn’t all a dream.

“Yenn used a tracking spell. But it took a few days to track her down. I’m so sorry we took so long.”

“Geralt no.” He can’t move his head, heavy on Geralt’s shoulder. And he hears his voice start to slur as tiredness takes him over again. “You would’a been hurt. If my family saw you. No. It’s okay now. Ciri?” He manages to pry his eyes open to look at Geralt, and Geralt smiles then. Shakily and not very convincingly. Although Jaskier can smell he’s not lying when he answers.

“Just the next room over. We’re in a safe house of Yenns.”

“Okay.” He closes his eyes again.

“Go to sleep my love.”

“My own.” He mutters, before he slips back into the darkness.

-

When he wakes up again it’s to quiet chatter. And his eyes snap open when he recognises the voices of his bonded.

Geralt is still in bed with him, although he’s sitting up while Jaskier is lying down. Geralt’s hand protectively on his chest, and as he sits up, he sees Ciri perched on the end of the bed.

“Ciri-” He calls, reaching out with his good hand, other shoulder still aching and her eyes light up as she grabs it. Holding it tightly even as Geralt fusses Jaskier into sitting up once again.

“You’ve been asleep for days.” She whispers, eyes looking over him much like Geralt’s had, and they linger on his shoulder long enough for him to realise he’s shirtless.

When he looks down he curses involuntarily. The burn marks spread in almost flame like shapes down his chest and arm, stopping half way on both. Skin a red and shiny, angrily raised. But there’s no sign on the brand.

Looking to his other shoulder, he sees the neat puncture marks there, looking like teeth marks almost. But they’re fully healed over, if still a deep red colour. And thankfully they don’t hurt. The potions and assumedly Yenn’s magics must be doing their work. Especially since his jaw and chin are no longer hurting, and he runs his fingers over the raised marks there. And then over his face where he feels the raised lines of scabs.

“I missed you.” He says, unable really to say anything else. And places a kiss to Ciri’s knuckles because he can’t reach her forehead.

“I’m so glad you’re awake.” She’s still whispering, and squeezes his hand. “You almost died.”

“I’m sorry sweet pea. I never meant to put you through that.”

“Wish we killed your family when we first offered.” She growled. “It’s not your fault. Those fucking bastards.”

Oh he’s so glad she’s his daughter. He can’t deal with that anger though, no matter how much she’s right with it.

“Alright Ciri, go on. Go and see what Yenn’s up to.” Geralt shuffles her off the bed with his legs and she frowns. 

“Geralt-”

“I need to speak to him alone for a minute okay? Please.”

It’s rare for Geralt to say please, so she sighs, and Jaskier almost laughs at how put-upon she looks. 

“Fine.” she stands up, brushing herself off before leaning over, kissing his forehead and flicking Geralt’s before leaving the small room, closing the door quietly behind her.

“So what happened?” Geralt asks, voice low as he reaches to take Jaskier’s hand again, as if the contact of their bodies pressed together at their sides isn’t enough.

“She cornered me after my performance. Dragged me back to where they live. Beat me, fucked up my shoulder. Fucking.” He chokes on air. “Fucking branded me. And then I shifted and flew off. Eventually collapsed, burned the brand off and then blacked out.”

“Fucking hell Jask.” Jaskier can’t help but croak out a laugh at that. Because really, he couldn’t do anything else.

“I’m gonna be fucking.” He tries to move his burnt arm and although he can, it stings so he lays it back down on the bedspread, using the back of Geralt's hand that’s clasped in his to scratch over his eyes. “Jumpy. The worst. For a while. It’s not, it’s not personal.”

“Oh my love.” He looks to Geralt, finding him staring back.

He was practically haggard, dark circles under his eyes and hair in disarray. Obviously he hadn’t been sleeping. “I’m sorry.” He offers. And Geralt shakes his head.

“You have nothing. Nothing. To be sorry for.” Carefully, he places a kiss on Jaskier's forehead. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

He’s not sure why that makes him start to cry but he does, silent tears rolling down his face. “No. No don’t blame yourself. I’m so glad you stayed out of it. I’de kill myself before letting them hurt you or Ciri please Geralt. My own. Don’t blame yourself for this.” Reaching up with his bad hand, ache be damned, he cups Geralt’s face in his hand, crying harder when Geralt leans into it.

“If you do that, i’ll resurrect you and kill you myself.” It’s a weak tease, but Jaskier chokes on a laugh all the same.

“Then I won’t.”

“Shit Jask. I was so fucking scared. We almost didn’t make it. You were almost dead.” He gasps, and Jaskier traces the dark circles under his eyes as he closes his eyes tightly. “I don’t know what i’de do if I lost you.”

“I won’t put you through that again.” He promises, and then he gasps as wetness coats his fingers. “You liar.” He wipes Geralt’s tears away. “You said they removed your tear ducts.”

Geralt laughs then, wiping at his face. “I thought they had. Come here.”

Shimmying down, he unlaces their fingers so he can lie down, pulling Jaskier to lie opposite him, both crammed into the single bed.

Geralt wraps the covers around them, tucking it at Jaskier’s back before holding him close, arm tight and secure around him, other arm worming its way under Jaskier’s head, shifting as close as he can while still being able to talk.

His only free arm is his hurt one, but he rests it over Geralt’s own, fingers tracing the scars on Geralt’s shoulder.

“They hurt me so badly Geralt.” He offers into the quiet then, the covers almost pulled over their heads offering a protection he didn’t have before. A secrecy he needed. “And the things they said.” Geralt just clutches him tighter, a pressure and safety he needs.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll go back and kill them all my love just say the word.”

“No I. Fuck. I still don’t want them dead. After all this.” And he truly doesn’t. Some tiny part of him still loved them. They were his family. No matter how fucked up they had been to him. “Shit.”

“Hey it’s okay. Shh.” Cautiously, Geralt uses the arm Jaskier was leaning on to gently smooth over the back of his hair and Jaskier leans back into it. “That’s okay. Just. Not my jaw or face, not for now. Or my shoulders. Probably.”

“Whatever you need.” Geralt continues to pet at his hair, fingers running through the matts that he knows are at the back with such care. “You’re never leaving my sight again. Not ever.”

“I’m okay with that.” Geralt kisses him, slow and safe and Jaskier melts into it. Both their faces tacky with dried tears and chapped lips. But he was safe in Geralt’s arms. With his bonded. “Go get Ciri for me? I don’t want to be away from either of you right now.”

“Okay my own.” Geralt kisses him, sweet and deep, before getting up, tucking him back under the covers.

It panics him a little, seeing Geralt leave. Although he can still feel him, only two doors away. Can hear him too, laughing at Ciri’s excitement and Yennefer’s put upon huff.

He’ll thank her with a ballad about her prowess and extraordinary secret kindness when she next shows her face.

Ciri bursts into the room, Geralt hot on her heels although she frowns and halts in the doorway, almost falling when Geralt crashes into her. “No this isn’t right. Can you stand? We need to build you a nest.”

Throwing the covers back and ignoring the ache it causes his arm, he stands. Legs wobbling and almost buckling until Geralt rushes to his side to catch him. Lowering him onto the chair that was still next to the bed while Ciri busies herself with hauling the mattress to the floor, shoving it into the opposite corner before running out of the room and returning with another one to put alongside it. Making a double bed.

Geralt helps her with the blankets, arranging them just how they knew Jaskier likes before Geralt lifts him back up. He practically carries him to the nest and deposits him as if he’s something precious into the fabrics, sitting down beside him on his hurt side, knowing Ciri would be too wrapped up in having Jaskier back to fully be aware of herself and where she was putting her limbs.

Ciri flops onto the mattress, instantly snuggling into his side as Geralt throws the covers over them, tucking them in as Jaskier lies on his back in between them.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again dad.” She mutters into his shoulder, hugging his arm tightly as Geralt wraps his arm around his waist.

“I wont. I promise.” He presses the words into her hair, still surprised by the brown before laying a kiss there.

“You better.” She mutters before settling down properly.

“Promise.”

-

Yennefer wakes them up a few hours later. “If you can hobble over here you can stand and come to the kitchen. Come on bard.” She commands, but she smiles at him as he gets up, swanning back out of the room. With a groan he gets up, Ciri starting to talk as she leads them out of the room as Geralt helps him to the kitchen, still not touching his bad arm.

Once he’s seated at the table, bad arm spread out across it while Yennefer sits beside him to look it over, Geralt goes about making them dinner. Ciri sits opposite, chin in hand while she watches Yennefer work.

“Now, because of you being a dragon and all.” Yennefer starts and despite himself he still jumps at her recognition of it. Thankfully, she just carries on, barely even raising an eyebrow. “Some of the potions, and some of my magic didn’t take in relation to your burn. Everything else was fine, but the tissue rejected almost everything except the salve.”

“Ah. Hence why it’s still fucked?” He asks and she nods. “Thank you though, for healing me and doing everything you could. I guess this skin just needs to heal on its own.”

“Well until you can move your arm properly and have the skin not stick to fabric you’re staying here. It’s safe here.”

“Aren’t you needed elsewhere?” He knows she must have been at Aretuza. Doing something worthwhile instead of helping him.

“Not right now. Ciri needs some training anyway.” He looks over to Ciri to see her nodding eagerly. And vows to write Yennefer at least two ballads. Three even.

“Yeah! We’ve been working on controlling the radius of my scream! Honing my magic!”

“I’m proud of you sweet pea.” He smiles, and then beams up at Geralt when a bowl of stew and hunk of warm bread is placed in front of him. “Thank you my love.”

He accepts the forehead kiss Geralt gives him before carrying on. “So what, we just wait here until i’m healed?” He glances at everyone and all three nod.

“Yep.” Yennefer pops the ‘p’, thanking Geralt with a head nod for her own food before tucking in. “Don’t think about doing anything bard. You need to rest.”

The ‘and calm down after your traumatic experience’ isn’t said but is heavily implied in the quick tap she places on his hand with one of her knuckles. He appreciates it.

“Fine.” He huffs, overdramatic in a way that gets Ciri to laugh. “We’ll just have to stay and rest for a bit. Oh what a shame that will be.” Geralt knocks their legs together under the table though, locking their ankles together from across the table.

Always one to see through his bullshit.

Because already he was both itching to leave and terrified of doing so. The feeling of being trapped lingering under his skin while the idea of going back out into the world where they could find him terrifies him.

Even though he knew that was stupid. They wouldn’t come looking for him. They had proved that in all the years he had been away and the fact that they hadn’t followed him. But still. He’s scared.

“Eat your dinner.” Yennefer pulls him out of his thoughts with another tap to his arm with her knuckle.

He taps back with his own, getting a smile for it and is very grateful with how far they had come.

Really, he knows that Yennefer was more doing this for Ciri rather than their slowly building friendship but he didn’t mind that. If he was in her position that would be his main motive too. But their tentative friendship was growing as well as it could with how infrequently they saw one another.

Hopefully the songs he would compose in her honour would help.

 _‘Razing armies, raising cubs. Powerful and bold,_ _  
_ _Her touch was warmth incarnate, her glare could freeze you cold._ _  
_ _Beware the witch they whisper, hiding from her brightness,_ _  
_ _But little do they know, of her deep and present kindness.’_

He likes the first phrase, the double meaning there. But the rest he’s not happy with. Well, he couldn’t be expected to compose straight away. He shouldn’t expect that of himself, not as he was just starting to recover.

“You must be feeling okay if you're composing.” Ciri teases when he focuses back on the conversation and he blinks hard at her.

“What?”

“You were tapping.” She motions to his spoon that he’s been idly tapping against his bowl in time with his rhyming scheme. 

“Oh. Uh. It’s not good. Some of my shittiest actually.”

“But you can’t expect yourself to do any better. You’ve just woken up Jask.” He’s glad Geralt never tries to pacify him with false compliments about the quality of his work. Especially when Jaskier knew his work was shit and he could improve it.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

“They’re always this disgusting huh?” Yennefer asks Ciri, almost conspiratorial and Jaskier laughs.

“Yeah they are.” Ciri agrees, and then her head shoots up, arms flailing and almost pushing her bowl from the table until Geralt narrowly saves it, pulling it out of the way. “Wait! I forgot to tell you! Jaskier said you were wrong!”

“Ciri I did not!” He protests. “I said.” He turns to Yennefer. “That you weren’t specific enough. That’s different.”

“And what. Pray tell. Was I not specific enough about?”

“Mud.” Geralt shrugs.

“No, it was how you said mud could be put on your face! And Jaskier said it couldn’t be just any mud. But you just said mud. So I trust your judgement.” Ciri pushes Geralt’s face with her hand to stop his smirk.

“No Ciri, I was right. Any mud will do.” As she’s saying that though, he feels Yennefer speak into the back of his mind again. _‘Please don’t let her put just any mud on her face.’_

 _‘I won’t._ ’ He thinks and she kicks him lightly under the table in recognition. ‘ _Also next time just admit I was right.’_

_‘Never.’_

He doesn’t think back a response. Instead, he thinks about selkimore guts and trying to get it out of Geralt’s hair and how gross it is. And watches as she physically grimaces and he feels her presence leave the back of his mind.

He has to go straight back to bed after dinner despite his nap. Magic still working through his system and the days of exhaustion catching up with him.

“You won’t sleep.” He protests, when all Geralt does is climb into the nest beside him, throwing the covers over them. It’s Jaskier’s favourite one too and he snuggles into it.

“No, but I said I wouldn’t leave your side and i’m not starting now.”

“You did before to get Ciri.” Jaskier yawns, ever pedantic and he can hear Geralt’s eye roll.

“I’m trying to be romantic here.”

Jaskier laughs, eyes closing already. “Just be here when I wake up.”

“I will.” He drifts off in Geralt’s arms, burrowed into his chest and held as close as he can.

-

Geralt is still beside him when he wakes up although he’s awake and sitting up, one of Ciri’s books in hand with his free hand in Jaskier’s hair.

“Hmm. Morning sleepy.”

“Morning?” Jaskier goes to push himself up with his bad arm and winces, but it definitely feels better than when he had gone to sleep and he looks down at the still scarlet red skin. That appearance hadn’t changed though, and it still feels incredibly tight as well as starting to blister up. Carefully, he reaches out and touches one of the edges to find that the skin had at least dried slightly which was good.

“Hmm. You slept all night. It’s just before dawn.”

“Really?” He yawns it into the skin of Geralt’s hip, placing his arm above the covers and around his waist gingerly to let the burn air.

“Hmm. Do you want a few more hours?”

“What I want.” He yawns again. “Is to be out and moving again.”

“Jask.” It’s said quietly. “You need time to heal.”

“I know I know. But what was it about facing your fears head on as soon as you could?”

“Fears about?” There’s a brief second. “Oh. Jask, my love. Are you scared to leave? You have every right to be.”

“No.” He lies out of habit and grimaces at himself. “Yes. But it’s stupid and unfounded. I know they won’t follow me. I know they won’t try anything again unless I get close. They didn’t-” He sputters, hand clenching in the furs. “They didn’t even chase me Geralt, they let me fly off. I shouldn’t be scared. I shouldn’t be so fucking terrified-”

“Jaskier.” Geralt pulls him up gently under his arms, mostly by his unburnt one and deposits him on his lap, settling his legs so he’s straddling the witcher and comfortable. “They kidnapped and tortured you. You’ve only barely just woken up after having to go through that. It would be weird if you weren’t scared.”

“But i’m a dragon-”

“Fuck that.” Geralt growls, hands going to Jaskier’s hips to hold him. “You’re a bard first and foremost. You’re Jaskier. My Jaskier. My heart. Everybody gets scared. You being a dragon means shit in this situation.”

“They mentioned that too.” His own hands go to Geralt’s shoulders, happy to feel Geralt’s firm form under his palms. A reminder that he was safe. “Me being a shitty fucking dragon.”

Geralt growls, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then another fully on his lips. “Fuck. Them. Nothing you do is shitty, nothing. You are the best person I know. The best dragon I know. You are mine, and I am yours. I will go back and tear their throats out with my fucking teeth Jask just give me the go ahead-”

Now Jaskier just quietens him with a kiss, kissing the anger from his lips. “So you keep saying my own. But really. I would rather you stay with me.”

“Anything, for you.” He steels his resolve again. Because the man before him would do anything for him, even if it meant staying in the safe house forever. But Jaskier knows he hates being so cooped up anywhere that isn’t Kaer Morhen. This safe house is not a home. No, they need to be back out in the world as quickly as possible.

“I know. Now, how about we come up with a plan. Because really my love, I don’t want to be terrified forever.”

“And your arm?” Jaskier spares it a glance.

“You will just have to deal with me being shirtless until the blisters stop being so.” He thinks of an appropriate word, not finding one. “Gross? Puss-filled? Really they’re disgusting and still sort of hurt.”

“Grim.” Geralt nods in agreement. “However, the you being shirtless part is definitely not.”

“Hmm, flatterer.”

“Can’t blame me.” Geralt smiles, leaning forward and Jaskier indulges him with a kiss, deeper than the previous but just as soft.

“So, do we get up now? Or later?” He asks when he pulls away.

“Later.” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier grins. Happy to spend the next few hours like this.

-

His anxiety eases a little over the next week, and the blisters indeed start to go down. Although he wouldn’t be wearing any tight tops any time soon.

He allows himself time to rest. Time to heal. Although he knows that if they don’t leave soon he’ll start climbing the walls.

No matter how nice and relaxing the time is.

“How do you feel about me travelling with you?” Yennefer asks one morning midway through the second week. Both nurturing cups of warm tea she had brewed. Something they had found themselves doing every morning while Geralt and Ciri trained in the small garden outside.

“Indifferent? You do as you please?” He’s confused, to say the least. “I would never mind, honestly i’m just surprised you’re even asking me.”

“That’s fair.” She nods. Taking another sip. “I thought it would be polite to ask. Since you are all a small unit.”

“We are all bonded.” He nods, and he gets a faint if pained smile in return.

“Ciri needs more training. And currently, I am not needed elsewhere. But you’re all getting antsy to leave. I can see it. So the option is to travel with you. Or halt Ciri’s training.”

“Well i’de never get in the way of that.” He says, meaning every word. “But even if she didn’t need it. You are both so close, you could also just travel with us because you wanted to.”

And they were close. Yennefer was the closest thing Ciri had to a maternal figure in her life. And Ciri positively adored her. The feeling was mutual he knew, with how soft Yennefer's eyes would get whenever she looked at the girl. The care she took with her teaching. How patient and careful she was with her in a way she definitely wasn’t with everyone else.

He hadn’t seen much of that, given how most of her training had been done in the two years they had been travelling without him initially. And then of course Yennefer had been needed to help stop Nilfgaard and such.

But now, seeing how close they were and how much Ciri relied on her. He knows Yennefer will never be his bonded. They would never be close like she and Geralt were, twined by destiny itself. But they were friends. They shared a similar sense of humour, spending the last few evenings laughing and snarking at one another. A playful banter than once held spite now held nothing but playful jabs that both know mean nothing. Their tie was Ciri. Both needing her, having her as family. A friendship born from that was definitely not the worst way to be formed.

“You don’t have to ask either. That’s.” He barrels on. “You’re basically her mother, I wouldn’t want you to not see her-” He catches her look, and she’s smirking. But kind and amused instead of vicious like he knows she can be. “You’re having me on aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t. But then you kept babbling.” He pushes her gently, laughing when she gives him the middle finger. “Thank you, though. That means a lot.” Her words are stilted but sincere and he smiles.

“You’re welcome.”

“It won’t be travelling all the time.” She clarifies. “Because I am needed and while Ciri needs magic training i’de rather die than take her to Aretuza. No. When i’m needed back there i’ll go alone. But when i’m not.” She shrugs. “You’ll have another person to help terrorize Geralt.”

“Oh I knew there was a reason we were becoming friends.” Her smirk is dangerous to match his own and she laughs, surprised and warm.

“So.” She leans forwards. “What’s our first attempt here going to be then?”

-

Waking up on the dawn of the third week goes as usual. Waking up, going to the small kitchen to have breakfast with everyone and almost dozing on Geralt’s shoulder in the morning sunlight before having a cup of tea with Yennefer to properly wake up and chat.

That is until Yennefer checks his arm. He had been able to wear a loose shirt for the past days and had slept in one, so when he takes it off awkwardly for her to be able to see the burn properly, they’re both surprised when they look down at the marks.

The blisters had gone, some accidentally and grossly popped while the others had gone away on their own. And the skin was still a deep dark red. But underneath the skin, just barely. They were able to make out the outline of his scales. They were faint to be sure, almost looking like almost impossibly redder veins under the surface.

But Jaskier would know the pattern anywhere. Breathless, he traces them with his finger, ignoring the sting at the contact. His mouth’s open he knows, but how could he keep a straight face.

There were his scales, a different sort of branding. Made by his own fire.

“How incredibly interesting.” Yennefer releases a breath next to him. “May I?”

Wordlessly he nods, eyes not leaving the pattern as she hovers her hand over them. He can feel the pule of magic that she sends through them, to try and see what was causing them. They weren’t scales in a partial shift. He knew what that felt like from his youth.

No. This was completely and entirely different. Completely new.

“It’s latent magic. Something old. Draconic, obviously. Probably wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t your own fire.” She’s quick, and he nods with her explanation.

“As if I subconsciously wanted to show that I was a dragon?” He asks, hesitant and she shrugs.

“Could be. Could be something to do with intention. Or, just your breath. Could be a complete coincidence. I’ve not studied dragons.” She shrugs again. “Either way, it’s not dangerous.”

That’s a massive relief and he slumps down in his chair. “Thank fuck.”

“Quite.”

He leaves his shirt off. “HEY GERALT! CIRI! COME LOOK AT THIS!” He shouts, although he knows Geralt will have been able to hear their conversation clear as anything already.

They come in, Ciri sweaty and Geralt oddly muddy. “Look close here, it’s really weird.” He beckons them over and they fall to his side. Both looking although neither touch.

“Oh wow.” Ciri gasps. “They’re like your actual scales.”

“I know, it’s really weird huh?”

Geralt just looks at him, searching for panic or further sickness. But Jaskier just smiles back, a silent reassurance and Geralt nods and hums. Before strolling back into the garden, Ciri following and complaining about not having seen it properly yet.

It’s good to know though that Geralt had just accepted it as another part of him. Not that he had been worried about it. More, he had been curious to see Ciri’s reaction, she was almost the most excited about the weirdest little things.

But it was knowing Geralt really didn’t care. For his health yes, and if they had been hurting Geralt would have gone to the ends of the earth to find a cure for him he knows. But they weren’t. They were just there. A reminder, mostly. And that would hurt more.

That was something he didn’t want to think about though. Not right now. Maybe in a few more weeks, or a few more months. But right now, he was just happy that his desire to leave and go back to travelling was stronger than his fear and anxiety.

It would hit him again once they started travelling he just knows it will. But that was a problem for future him to worry about.

“You really do understand each other. Honestly, it’s a marvel.” Yennefer teases, snapping him out of his thoughts and he can’t help but smile back.

“I know right.”

-

It’s another week of honestly disconcerting domesticity before he’s able to travel. Or well, at least until his shirt stopped sticking to his burnt skin most of the time and that’s good enough for him.

In that week they had slowly started to prepare for travel once Jaskier had shouted his confirmation of being able to travel. The cottage, despite how cozy it was, was slowly starting to suffocate him. And having four large personalities in one household he knew would start to get draining if they weren’t out using their energy travelling and adventuring.

Nightmares had started to creep into his nightly routine. Not large, all consuming terrors. But he knew they were starting small, working to the big ones and his brain was blocking everything out. Not wanting to properly face what had happened.

He was happy to let that happen for a while. Would let himself cling to the forced ignorance and ignore it for a while longer. It wasn’t healthy. Wasn’t good for him. But he was doing just that anyway.

There hadn’t been too much solace to his quiet nightly suffering during the week. Thankfully, playing his lute hadn’t been too much of a problem. Or it had been, and he had worked through the pain until he could play mostly with ease once again. Ignoring his stiff and hurt shoulders. That was something he refused to acknowledge. The idea he might not have been able to play. Thankfully, nobody had tried to stop him. 

Because now three weeks later he was almost fully back to playing normally. His burnt shoulder was still stiff, but if he didn’t play too raucously he would be fine. Fingers still nimble as they had been on the strings.

It’s the night before they’re leaving. And he’s too excited to sleep. Leaving this place means moving forward, and he desperately wanted to leave all of that shit behind.

“Jask.” They’re in their room, Jaskier pacing around it playing quietly so as not to wake Ciri or Yennefer. He turns, stopping as watches Geralt get up from the nest. Meditation apparently forgotten.

Gently, and he is the only person Jaskier would allow to do this, he takes the lute from Jaskiers hands, placing it as gently as Jaskier would on the pile of blankets in the nest.

“You excited for tomorrow?” He smirks, already knowing the answer as he crowds back into Jaskier’s space. He noses at Jaskier’s temple, then the bare skin of his chest, hands at Jaskier’s hips.

“Hmm. Of course. Although I thought you were meditating, what are you doing?” He asks as Geralt peppers kisses to his neck, before shifting back ever so slightly.

“You never did get that dance.” Geralt leans forward, fingers cautiously tracing the healing skin of his burn scars before trailing down his arm to capture Jaskier’s hand in his, bringing it up to hold while his other hand goes to Jaskier’s healed shoulder.

Jaskier smiles, hand going to Geralt’s waist. “You spoil me.” He presses closer, ducking to nose at Geralt’s jaw before he slowly starts to move them

There’s no music. But there doesn’t need to be. As Jaskier slowly starts to sway them around the room, turning in slow circles as he rests his head on Geralt’s chest.

His heartbeat is as slow and steady as ever. A slow rhythm that Jaskier moves to. “I’m excited to get back on the road tomorrow.” He whispers into Geralt’s chest. “I’ve got cabin fever.”

“Hmm. I know Jask.” Geralt drops his head to rest his cheek on the top of Jaskier’s head, going along with Jaskier’s swaying, happy to follow Jaskier’s lead. “I can’t wait to be back out there too.”

“For more adventure.”

“Sleeping under the stars.”

“Getting kicked out of taverns.”

“I can’t wait to ride Buttercup, have her follow Roach and bother you both with my playing while we travel.” He’d missed her terribly. Ciri was taking care of her well, but she was his horse.

“Never a bother.” Geralt is quick to say, and Jaskier appreciates it. But then he ruins it, sort of. “Hm, can’t wait to ride you.” 

“Brute.” He bites Geralt’s chest, laughing when Geralt growls and leans down to nip at his ear.

“You love me.”

“I do. My love. My own. The only man who would dance with me to no music because he knows I missed out.”

“I’de do anything for you.” It’s so honest and Jaskier leans up to kiss him, deep and needy.

“My own, I love you.”

“I love you too. My Jaskier. My Jask.”

They dance to nothing for a few more minutes, trading kisses as they sway in place. Feeling safe there in his bonded and beloved’s arms. Like he always would. And with that knowledge, he was ready to face the world again.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> \- Panic Attacks  
> \- Explicit Torture (Burning/Branding/Physical Violence/Starving)  
> \- Kidnapping  
> \- Very briefly implied child abuse (towards Jaskier)  
> \- Familial abuse (Jaskier is tortured by his family)  
> \- Very brief self mutilation (burning through dragon fire) and it's treatment


End file.
